Spoken and Unspoken
by o pink moon o
Summary: The alternate story explored between an uncertain Bulgarian and an opinionated witch. Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum. Read and review!
1. Judgement of Fire

Spoken and Unspoken

Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger:

_The alternate story explored_

_between an uncertain Bulgarian and an opinionated witch._

* * *

Author's Notes:

I have always... always... been fond of the Viktor Krum/Hermione Granger pairing. For me, seeing Hermione together with Ron always seemed like more of a childhood friendship turning into an awkward relationship, with them knowing too much about each other, and the relationship being mildly awkward and just... not that interesting to me. Thinking about Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger together is a lot more satisfying to me, in that fact that Viktor singles her out, puts in effort to summon up the courage to talk to her, and continues to show interest in her. It's just more pleasing. Thinking of Hermione as an adult with an adult Ron is just... very awkward. You are, of course, entitled to your own opinion. In finding you here, however, I hope that you at least somewhat like Hermione and Viktor paired up together. So, in this fanfiction, I'm going to try to realistically place these two together while still following the storyline of the books. I'm not 100% sure where it's all going to go, but I'm dedicated to it. I also apologize to those who love very much a Ron/Hermione pairing. I hope you will like my take on this little pair, as much as I will enjoy writing it.

If this fanfiction seems to replicate something you have already read on the pair, I apologize. I will be trying to follow the story as best as I can. For the Ron/Hermione shippers, I won't be disregarding Ron's feelings entirely. He still has to come to terms with his affections for Hermione, but I doubt they will come to fruitation.

* * *

Viktor Krum, hunched over the dusty large hardback with more tension in his back than a tightly strung bow, sat in the Hogwart's library... again.

Many people assumed he was desperately trying to figure out the first task; it was in two day's time. Others surmised that the Bulgarian seeker had a penchant for studying.

His buddies from Durmstrang could have shot this conclusion down to the ground.

Viktor neither needed assistance in the first task nor needed to study. His exams were done. He had finished them before school had started, having been informed prior to his 7th year that he was a candidate for the Triwizard Tournament. With the Triwizard Tournament over at the end of the year he could fully concentrate on Quiddich.

For now, he knew what laid ahead of him for the first task: dragons. He was neither confident nor frightened. He knew pointless worrying wouldn't change the clock or the outcome. His Quiddich experiences stood behind him in this regard... But that didn't mean his stomach wasn't squirming like a restless snake.

The cause of his concerns sat diagonally across the room from him, several glossed wooden tables away. They might as well have been countries apart for all the good his being in the same room with her did him.

What really brought him to the library wasn't the book he was hunched over. It was her.

He had come to the library everyday since his gaining the knowledge that she frequented it. She was almost a resident in the large towering room. During the day, in a free moment, she sat under the light from the circular window filtering down. She smartly chose the lightest part of the room. In the evening and into the late night until the library closed, the stars could be seen above, floating candles offering light sufficient to read by. She was often hidden behind books of various sizes, always with a stack of several next to her. Her paper white hands would take notes with ink and quill. Her thick hair would lay in a mass on her small back. It hung in heavy brown waves, and she often had to push it back when it fell into her eyes. This was a cute quirk he noticed about her. But the true admirable trait he noted often was her quiet determination. Her face set into a line that was quite strong but not unfeminine. She set into her work, looked lost in it. It really was rather beautiful. She looked the way he felt when he was on a broomstick.

But he knew already the hopeless steer of his actions.

It didn't just stabilize him, snap him into thinking straight; it hindered him. He wasn't ignorant of their age difference. He was eighteen, less than a year from being done with school. In her fourth year, he could only assume she was fourteen; more hopefully, fifteen. It was three or four years... but he could think back to his own self at fifteen and himself now. He would be unable to list all the changes that had taken place in his thoughts, ideas, and outlook on life. It also didn't help that the first words he had heard from her were: "For heaven's sake, Ron, _he's only a Quiddich player_!"

But those words were also the introduction to his being there for countless hours over a book he wasn't really reading.

The exclamation had been said in such an indignant tone admist all the excitement that it was as if that was the only thing being said in that giant room. He had been the only professional Quiddich player there; how could it not have been an obvious statement with him as the subject?

He was quiet but he wasn't deaf.

He had turned his head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of the people in that general direction. He couldn't make out who had said it, but in the squabble of people moving behind him, some people jumping up and down to catch a better look at him, he spotted a group of girls. It wasn't until he heard an exasperated, "Really!" of the same voice that he was able to pinpoint it to a younger girl next to a fiery red-head. The crowd had veered off and he had followed his companions. He could hear no more after that, but his gaze followed her as she was seating herself down at the long table with red and gold banners above it with the lion imprinted onto it's fabric.

Viktor looked across the library at her and his shoulders slumped lower more than usual. There wasn't a time he could instantly think of where he felt more disheartened at his inarticulate use of language. It had nothing to do with English or Bulgarian... In either language, he had no idea how to approach her, how to break the ice. And as Viktor saw her face contort into annoyance from the overly girlish giggles heard around a near bookcase, he sighed, standing up. Even being quiet as he was, he was still hindering her.

It wouldn't do. To talk to her or not, he couldn't handle whatever the outcome would be so close to the first task ahead of him. People often ruined his concentration. If she treated him badly, he would be unable to focus. If she swooned over him, he would be severely disappointed. If she was kind to him, or understanding, or quiet herself, he would be too flustered to pay attention to that task at hand. He was just a Quiddich player. He agreed with her.

He hadn't been offended at the statement. It was a reoccurring complaint towards others that it played like a broken record over and over in his mind.

But before a girl, an incredibly smart one at that, what kind of thing was he to say to impress her or prove her wrong? If the statement of him just being a Quiddich player was accurate, and there was no more to that statement, then what kind of common ground could he hope to introduce on her?

Trudging out of the library in low spirits, a fifteen year old girl's words were more frightening to a man than a fire-breathing dragon.

It was probably better that the girl didn't know it.


	2. Do 'Oou Know 'Eer?

Author's notes: Wow! Thank you everyone who gave me such a warm welcoming on my first chapter. I wasn't sure if it would go over well, and I was pleasantly surprised with Story Alerts, Favorite Story's, and Review Alerts. Thank you! So I decided to write a little more than I did last time. I have a goal when writing this story. I really want to kind of follow the main storyline of the books from the 4th one: Goblet of Fire, to the 7th one:Deathly Hallows, and after. The only parts I want to change are just the ones that concern Hermione and her relationship with Ron, and include Hermione with her relationship with Viktor. So yes, it's going to not be a major surprise in plot, just very minor changes. But I hope I can offer different perspectives to you guys. I already have something decently big planned, that may or may not be pleasing, but I figure, if it makes ME feel strongly, then it might make you feel strongly, too. I won't tell you in what direction I'm going here :P

But please, continue to give this story a shot and please review if you can. I love the input and it motivates me to work on it.

* * *

Two defining instances had Viktor Krum standing back in the library again very soon after the first task had been completed and done with. The rush of the first task had subsided only slightly after several days, but Viktor, after facing his dragon and being in a good place in the tournament, was distraught by one thing; one person: the 4th year Hogwarts champion who had tied him in scores. And it wasn't because of this unexpected outcome in the tournament that had Viktor going back to his table in the corner in a sour mood. Viktor went on auto-pilot and pulled several books off the shelf before reclaiming his position. He wasn't sure if she would come today, but Viktor settled into the chair and geared himself up to wait. He was intent on doing it today. He only hoped she would come in today. And alone this time.

The two instances that remained in his brain had been exacerbated by his abrupt chance meeting with her after the first task.

She had been walking in a rush from the Champion's tent towards the castle, up the half-dirt ridden path half-cobblestoned walk towards the looming gates. Viktor had the Beauxbeatons champion in tow, the silly girl having run off towards the carriages for a reason he assumed was important enough. Fleur, deemed donning a fresh skirt to replace the singed one she had been wearing after her fight with the Common Welsh dragon excessively important.

Viktor had noticed her immediately for her wild hair, despite the hands on her face. She was heading towards them very unknowingly, but Viktor stood tall, not knowing what he was doing before he had a hand out on her small shoulder and was wrenching her arm away from her face with the other. There were tears, and more coming, streaming down her face. Her face was so red and her eyes so glossy he could see a slight reflection of himself shooting back at him. He tried not to look at the impromptu mirror reflected back through her brown eyes.

"'Vot is 'vong?" Viktor said, unable to stop himself from demanding. "Are you all right?"

She looked greatly surprised; shocked even. She opened her mouth soundlessly then settled for a nod after closing her mouth into a thin line.

"I'm fine... I'm just...I'm fine." She rushed, still very much surprised and confused, looking between him and the Delacour girl behind him. But her voice was quite sure of itself. Her demeanor however... She seemed unable to continue, her eyes then darting like a deer to his own large hand still locked around her wrist.

He dropped his hands quickly. "I...apologize. If there is anything I can do, do not hesitate..." But then a feeling of utter humiliation flooded over him. His stomach was squirming, the look on her face was nothing more than what he plainly saw, embarrassed confusion, and Delacour looked, as politely as she could, very much not there if she could help it. But Fleur was also looking over Viktor's shoulder at the bushy-haired girl.

He could imagine what she saw. The brown-haired 4th year was now looking at Fleur's unintentioned snobbish look with a glowering one of her own.

So Viktor bowed at the waist very stiffly. He walked away from the still nameless girl whose image was burned into his eyes, along with the expression on her face. His back felt very stiff like marble but his feet walked ahead of him, knowing from memory how to walk, one foot ahead of the other.

Fleur quipped behind him, "Do 'oou know 'eer?"

He gave no reply. Viktor only entered the tent quietly.

By the time Viktor had reached the inside of the tent, the final Champion's task had been completed, and the girl had clearly come from that direction.

Viktor could only form one conclusion answering for her state of complete disarray and he stood there in front of Viktor, a gangly boy at best.

If she had come from the stands, he wouldn't have bumped into her up the hill before the castle. That left the most plausible possibilty that she came from the tents. The only person in the Champion's tent was Harry Potter. The other Hogwarts champion entered in from the medic's tent in the next moment.

"Good one, Harry." The older Hogwart's champion nodded to the boy.

"And you." Harry replied with a grin. He looked slightly flushed and very relieved. Either way he was in a high state of emotion. Not unusual for someone who had just finished facing a large, fire-breathing dragon.

And this would have meant nothing to Viktor, had he not seen 1.) A few days prior to the first task, she and Potter walking around the lake several times together.

Viktor had been inside of his room on the Durmstrang ship, which had a direct view of the lake outside and of the stands further away to the west. He couldn't make them out at first, but when raising his head from a letter he was writing a few minutes later, he could make _her_ out. He couldn't distinctly tell who was next to her at first, but he was male.

This irritated him some. He had no claims on her, but still... his curiosity was immediate. Despite his own private resolution to avoid the library until the first task, he was following them very loosely, letter forgotten. He followed them until he met the usual corridors that led to the library. If he could find any place in Hogwarts, he could find the library on the third floor. He knew the Hogwarts library better than his own.

He slouched in a few minutes later so as not to be conspicuous. 2.) Yes, it was Potter.

They were there together with their heads over books at her usual table. It was beyond him why his jealousy was instantaneous. He went to the table of his in the corner and sat. He tried to look at them without making it obvious, but it was right then that he saw an aggravated look shot towards his direction. It was from her eyes. Then she and Potter got up to leave the library after soundless muttering from her.

Surprised and angry, mostly at himself, Viktor got up also and made to leave, feeling foolish. But as he was pulling the door open, a gaggle of girls, one with a red sash tied around her waist, were on the other side of it. They were not expecting to see him up from his spot and leaving. It was their intention to talk to him, but this was too abrupt.

Viktor bowed, allowing them to walk in first, then made to leave again, but before he could have safely been out of reasonable earshot, one of them called to him, "Wait!"

He stopped, then wanted to smack himself. Now he had to turn around.

"'Vot is it?" He tried to reply evenly, but his tone was like his demeanor: surly.

There were four of them. They looked maybe sixteen or seventeen, and one had her hand on her friend's shoulder, the one who wore the red sash. She had a face nearly as red. Inwardly, Viktor sighed. His fists clenched.

"Go on." Her friend nudged her. The girl in the sash just opened her mouth and closed it tightly, blushing harder. Nervously, the friend spoke for her. "She wants to give this to you... umm..." The girl in the sash shakily handed over a letter to the friend, who handed it, quite nervously herself, to Viktor.

The girl in the sash stuttered out, "I-I-It's for luck... f-for the tournament..."

The girl patted her friend's back encouragingly and finished, "There's a charm in there for good luck, she means. This is Tabitha. I'm Isabelle." The other two girls giggled, whispering to each other.

"T-Tabitha Reynolds... I-I'm a really big fan..." She was looking at the floor now. Her friend smiled again, and urged her to go on, but Viktor hastily bowed again. "Thank you." He said automatically, finally finding the silver lining in his particular problem. He tried to brighten up, but he only managed to upgrade to broody. "I 'vonder, if I may ask a favor..." He said quietly.

Tabitha was now officially as red as the sash. Her friend was surprised and happy, and the other two girls were giggling in uncontrollable fits now.

"I am often in the library. I very much enjoy to read, but I cannot concentrate sometimes..." Viktor didn't like to lie, even in small forms, but he was willing to do this particular thing. His shoulders slumped slightly.

A moment passed and then one of the girls went, "Oh!" Another piqued, "Oh, we're sorry..." They gave embarrassed smiles.

"Um..." Tabitha looked up now, so nervous that when she met the edge of his face in her vision her head flew back downwards to the floor. "...I... I will tell people to leave the library alone... I know some of the girls who've been coming here... Sorry..." She muttered. "We're just... r-really excited." Tabitha's hands flew up to her face. She laughed shakily. "We're sorry... Sorry." She repeated.

"No, thank you." He said, bowing again. Feeling awkward, he turned away and treaded from them quickly. He was sure they hadn't finished talking, but he took their stunned silence as a blessing and went back to the ship. Giggles followed him through the corridor on his way out.

* * *

Everything screamed at him to leave it alone. _Leave her alone._ The look in her eyes when she shot him that dirty gaze, her emotional attachment to the Hogwart's champion, her obvious disdain for _him_... And if not him, then his profession and passion. He put his hands in his hair.

_Leaver her alone. Leaver her alone..._

He would do it.

He would ask her.

He would ask her to go to the Yule Ball with him before that Potter did.

Viktor flopped onto the top of his book and sighed again, miserable in his cage as he waited uselessly.

* * *

Hermione entered the library Thursday evening with a list prepared for several books on Ancient Runes. She was behind schedule for her self-study for next years O.W.L's, having gotten behind from helping Harry rush at the last minute and learn his summoning spell properly. She headed directly to the History section and to the even smaller divsion dedicated to runes. Checking her list again, Hermione started pulling books off the shelf. She had three books propped into her arms before she realized the silence around her.

She smiled to herself, basking in the quietness of the library. Since the Yule Ball had been announced, a lot of students wouldn't step within the direction of the library unless it was an emergency. For her, the library was at it's best abandoned and empty. Even Madam Pince was gone from her perch at the desk nearing the large wooden doors. This was rare and she intended to take advantage of it.

Hermione had gotten most of the books she was interested in obtaining before spotting a large text just out of reach. It was titled: Index of Ancient Runes. Last time Hermione had checked for it, the huge book had been gone and was in use by a seventh year who refused to return it for weeks. Hermione fished in her robes for her wand, but her hand paused when a shadow overflowed her and the books on the case in front and above her.

She was half-startled but then felt the presence approach closer. Now a voice accompanied it, after a quick cough. In mid-turn she paused at the voice and the umistakeable accent, "'Vould you like help? 'Vich one is it?" She froze in her turn and her shoulders retraced their movement. She felt cornered, embarassed, and nervous. She didn't know why. It was the obvious closeness of the person behind her, and the obvious situation of her and him alone in the library. If he had purposely seeked her out, she didn't know why. Maybe she was paranoid, but she hadn't forgotten the tight grip he'd had on her and how abruptly it had happened. She was blushing and didn't know why. A voice inside her mind screamed: _Danger!_

She simply replied, "No. I can get it." And pulled the wand out of her robes and directed it upwards. "_Accio Index._" The large book was heavy and it shuffled sluggishly out of it's spot between the other books. Slightly bent over from the weight of the now slighty-too-heavy books, she waited for a moment longer until she could trust herself, then she turned around.

It was Viktor Krum. She had known it was, recognizing the voice from before, but with him there in front of her, much farther away than she had supposed, she felt foolish for thinking something weird. She mumbled, "Thank you, though." as she moved past him and to her usual table.

She felt like she was being rude. This was the second time she had shrugged him off. He, Viktor Krum, a Triwizard Champion and an International Quiddich player, who was obviously just trying to be friendly. She bit her lip, a voice ringing in her ears that the whole point of the Triwizard Tournament was to make friends, and here she was, going against it instinctively.

No longer comfortable in the library, Hermione had a hand on one of the books and picked up Runes: How Ancient Are They Really?. Her lips pursed at the title. How silly.

Now it would be a wait for Madam Pince to return so she could get permission to take the books out. She was a real stickler for her books, despite Hermione's excessively extreme care with them. Madam Pince still remembered the torn page from that book on Basilisks from Hermione's second year and had never really forgiven her, despite her loyalty to the library.

Hermione heard the shuffling behind her again, Krum's footfalls were of the heavy variety she was learning. Instead of waiting stupidly this time, Hermione turned around to face him. She opened her mouth to ask a polite question to break the ice, but he, a respectful distance from her with his hands behind his back, stood tall and said, "You are very lucky. The library at Durmstrang is nothing compared to this. You take vell advantage of it, I have seen."

There was not a topic of more interest to Hermione than this. She was a sucker for knowledge about places and things she'd never been to or might not know about. Locations and places had been her first area of study when being accepted into Hogwarts. The Institute of Durmstrang had not been overlooked, but there was not a large collection of knowledge on it. Having a Durmstrang student in front of her, she was a rush of questions. "Durmstrang's library isn't bigger? I know Durmstrang was founded much earlier than Hogwarts, but I've never seen any mention of specific dates. How early was Durmstrang founded exactly?"

"'Ven was Hogwarts founded?" Viktor returned.

"990 A.D." Hermioned recalled quickly.

"Ah." There was a silence, then Viktor continued, looking hesitant, but Hermione understood. It wasn't necessarily advisable, even discouraged, to give excessive detail about their respective schools. He was carefully forming a reply.

"Durmstrang actually started out very young and small..." He continued. "It vas originally a coven of 'vitches and 'vizards at first, then over many years they vere thinking to expand, eventually, most likely after Hogvarts had been already founded. I am thinking they also institutionalized because of it. Our library is much smaller in comparison. Before Gridenvald's time there vas a very large book burning. Knowing this, it sheds light on Grindevald's actions, and perhaps he vas not very vell learned."

"I've learned so many things from books," Hermione started, stopping only to wonder how much to divulge about her passion, sometimes called obsession by others, for reading and relying on books. "I'm muggle-born, so when I got my acceptance letter from Hogwarts, I read as much as I could find. I felt very behind, and I ended up reading all my school books before school started." She said in embarassment mixed with pride. She looked at Krum and his face showed no negative signs. In fact, he asked directly after, "And so you are actually muggle-born? No 'vitches or 'vizards in your family?" Then he seemed to rethink the question, quickly adding. "There is nothing 'vong with that, I mean, there are many really vonderful 'vitches and 'vizards who go through long muggle lines." He seemed to hesitate again after this statement.

"They don't accept muggle-born into Durmstrang, do they?"

"No. They do not. We lose many good 'vitches and 'vizards to it, but Durmstrang can often be lacking in progression of society sometimes."

"Durmstrang also allows students to learn the black arts?"

"Ve are different to many schools in that particular area, and ve do learn the dark arts, but it is strictly on a 'knowledge is a preventative power' basis. I do not feel that because I have learned about that kind of magic that I vould feel the need to use it."

"Of course not." Hermione agreed, thinking about all the rules they had to break in order to do good. It mattered entirely on maturity of mind and intent.

A distinct, prim clearing of the throat was heard across the library near Madam Pince's desk, who, standing now behind the desk, pointed to the clock above the doors. It was 8 PM. Closing time.

Hermione apologized to Madam Pince and went to gather her books. Krum was faster than her, and gathered up the large book before she could. "Thank you." She nodded as she went with the rest of the books to Madam Pince's desk.

Madam Pince, looking particularly severe at the two of them, went to magically time-stamping and dating the cards in the books for Hermione.

"I vould actually be interested in a book on Hogvarts." Viktor said in the silence.

Hermione replied, "There's a rather good book that's a must-read if you want to know more about Hogwarts. It's the first book I read on it, and I find myself still going back to it. I know the library has a copy, it's called Hogwarts: A History."

Madam Pince said airly. "You'll have to get that book somewhere else. We don't allow books out of the Hogwart's premises."

Hermione quietly chastised the woman in her head. 'More like YOU don't let the books out of the premises...'

Hermione and Krum were silent until they walked out of the library. Once out of the corrider and Madam Pince's sharp heeled footsteps could be heard fading away, Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You can borrow my copy. It has a lot of notes in it and I marked a lot of pages, but it's still readable. Is that okay?"

"That is vonderful, I vould like that even better."

"I'll be a few minutes, then."

Hermione took Index of Ancient Runes back from Krum and went in the direction of the Gryfindor dormitories, happy that someone was interested for once. This was a wholly new concept to her, to think someone might actually be worth talking to in the intellectual sense. She was smiling as she waited for the next moving staircase to point in the right direction.

Viktor left the castle and to the ship without an answer, but a book. But to him, a book was much a much better thing. A book, _her book_, with her own thoughts and opinions, a little bit of her past self locked inside, could be looked through and studied. He could have more insight on her. It hadn't been a lie that he was interested in Hogwarts, but he was truly more interested in her and the conversations they might be able to share on similar topics.

He would read it. He could hold onto it indefinitely. Nothing could bring him down at that moment.

When he got back to his room on the ship he settled down and got out of his Durmstrang robes. The only thing he wanted to do was read. It was strange, but not a horrible feeling.

And then he saw it.

Opening the book, scribbled neatly in the upper left corner, was her name.

_Hermione Granger._

He could hit himself for his stupidity. Again, he hadn't thought to ask her name. But he had been so jumbled in his feelings while talking to her, talking more than he would usually talk in a month to others, he had forgotten to ask.

'Hermione Granger...' He thought.

He laid in bed next to the book and looked at the name again. Falling asleep with the book open to his side, his last thought was, 'I'll never be able to say it... but now I know...'


	3. Spoken

Author's note: I can pretty much come up with a bajillion and one excuses as to why this took me so long. But I won't do that, because most of them will be lies AND I get tired of seeing people make excuses as to "Why I haven't been posting blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah." So, THANK YOU to those who have been following this story and know that hopefully the next chapter will come out quicker. If it doesn't then I'm dead. Case closed! I already have a good bit written out. Ramble ramble ramble. More words here means less words being written in the next chapter, doesn't it?

Enjoy!

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in the Great Hall seated for breakfast, the usual hum more of an excited buzz now that the Yule Ball had been announced to the Hogwarts students as fast approaching. Girls who hadn't been prepared were now sending letters home to their parents to ask for money to order their dresses. Almost the entire female populace of Hogwarts, or at least the ones fourth year and above (and a few hopeful third years), were in a wild panic of preperation.

Hermione's face turned sour when a group of girls suddenly burst into excessively loud laughter right behind her as they were walking by, excited whispers not really whispers anymore. Hermione didn't know _why_ they bothered to whisper. There were maybe a dozen people in the Great Hall. She ruffled the Daily Prophet loudly in return.

It was Sunday morning, the final week of the term about to descend upon them before Christmas break arrived. Without any work for the day, Hermione very uncharacteristically sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall in a state of relaxation, no book to be seen propped against a silver jug. She allowed herself to read through the columns of the Daily Prophet without rush and sipped nonchalantly on chilled pumpkin juice mixed with a little bit of orange juice. Munching slowly on toast, the marmalade and butter smothered piece of bread was set down each time on the plate between bites. Hermione continued to read while throwing a glance to Harry and Ron.

The two of them were curiously quiet, she noted, Harry slumped over rubbing his eyes and Ron leaning on his elbow stabbing his eggs with a fork disinterestedly. She figured it was because they were contemplating the many ways to get dates for the dance. Or maybe they were just tired. This thought led her to wonder how or why they even dragged themselves out of bed. It was nearly eight in the morning. Aside from them a few early risers and a half-dozen of girl's voices amplified to make it sound like there were more people in the Great Hall than there were. Maybe they didn't even know what time it was.

She chose to keep quiet on the subject, knowing the outcome of her prodding, a fruitless endeavor, and finished up reading instead.

"No articles from that Skeeter woman today... I guess even _she_ takes a break from being a horrible person for the holidays."

Ron grunted, "Huh?"

Hermione sighed, putting the newspaper down, sipping on the last of her pumpkin juice before brushing off her robes and picking up the letters one of the school owls delivered. The goblet filled up to the brim again instantly. Her brows furrowed when she noticed this, a dark thought settling over her brain about house elves and their misguided "servant" status. But it was too early to get riled up. Instead she felt at the letter in her hand.

At first she thought it was just a bulky letter from her parents, her mother getting emotionally overwhelmed again that Hermione wasn't coming home for the first time for Christmas. She'd received a letter already, her mother transmitting those feelings into a novel-sized letter asking Hermione if she had everything?, how were classes?, was she doing well?, would she get on fine for Christmas?, did she want them to come up to Hogsmeade to see her for a little Christmas celebration away from home? But there was no such letter this time. True, the letter from her parents marked in the usual loopy tight writing from her mother was there, but on picking up the letter and seeing a very simple, and small envelope addressed only with: "Miss Granger" on the front and no Hogwarts address, she realized her mistake.

Hermione took notice to the little letter, more of a note she admitted as she unfolded it, while taking another gulp of magically delivered slave-labor pumpkin juice. Said pumpkin juice was now being choked on in a burst of surprise, her hand balling up into a fist and knocking repeatedly into the space between her collar bones as she tried to resist from choking on the liquid. It went down "the wrong pipe" as her mother would say.

Ron sat there still eying his breakfast, not even really noting the flailing going on next to him. Harry, who sat across from Ron, was waking up a little more and asked automatically, "You ok, Hermione?"

"F-...Fine... I'm fine!" Hermione replied rather too quickly then wondered if she would draw their notice too much if she left for the common room just then. She opted to wait.

In reality, Harry and Ron _were _too tired to really notice anything Hermione would consider "abnormal" behavior.

Hermione wasn't Hermione without a book handy, so the small note, unobtrusive in reality, was snuggled into pages quickly and she made a show of opening the letter from her parents in front of them. She sat there for a minute, seeming more like an eternity to her, before quipping up.

"Well, I'm going back to the common room." She called over her shoulder, already heading towards the grand archway of stone leading out of the Great Hall.

Ron managed a grunt again. "Nn."

Harry was a little more motivated. "Oh? Yeah. See ya."

Hermione used to read her letters on the way to her destination, but a very terrifying experience on one of the many moving staircases where she nearly walked headlong into nothing had corrected her bad habit in reading while walking. Sometimes she couldn't help it, but if she was on the stairs she could wait.

Waiting to open _this_ letter was nothing short of a miracle. Only the fear of falling to her death from walking off the staircase prevented her from unfolding the letter. Instead she waited until she was nestled down into a large armchair by the fire. A lot of people were still asleep. Only a few ambitious Gryffindors would mill around the common room soon.

Curiosity gnawing at her now and Hermione opened the book up. The tiny, unobtrusive letter fell into her lap.

No one ever addressed her this way. This, _Miss Granger_. It was one thing to meet by chance in the library and have a conversation, it was another thing entirely to receive a neatly written letter from said person.

Hermione again opened up the note that had previously given her a close call with death by pumpkin juice.

_Miss Granger,_

Hermione couldn't help but blush in embarrassment from the extreme politeness of the introduction. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, she thought. But it did seem very business-like.

_This is from the person you let borrow your book Hogwarts: A History on Thursday evening. I did not have a chance to tell you that my name is Viktor Krum._

That was when she had choked in the Great Hall.

But she shook her head in amazement. How could he think she hadn't known who he was? The entire school, she snorted, correcting herself, half the population of Europe knew who Viktor Krum was. You'd be hard pressed to find someone who didn't know him after the world tournament had finished. True, she hadn't known of his existence for longer than a few months, and she _had_ been that minority of oblivious persons who wouldn't have been able to name him as Viktor Krum by bumping into him. But listening to Ron's _Viktor Krum this_ an_d Viktor Krum that _was a sure-fire way to smack that information into her head. But _that_ Viktor Krum and _this_ one seemed like an entirely different person. But then she thought, who was she to make the judgement on that?

_I found out your name from the book. I am not trying to be rude with you. _

Again the politeness. She was now cherry red, wholly inable to comprehend the feeling of being addressed in such a way. She had Ron, Harry, and the rest of the male population of Hogwarts to thank for that.

_I finished the book and I would like to show you appreciation for your generosity._

Generosity for lending him a book? Hermione couldn't name one person she'd lent a book to that would have considered the word as being 'generous'. More like 'forceful'. But the next sentence cast aside Hermione's skepticism. She was sent into girlish raptures, albeit quietly, considering the time of day.

_If you would like I would be happy to show you our ship. _

Now Hermione sat up on her knees in the armchair, standing up out of the chair completely. Since Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had arrived at the beginning of the year she had thought about their respective transportation in almost rabid curiosity.

What history did it have? What did it look like? How did the different cultural magics affect their environments? The Durmstrang ship was far more interesting than the Beauxbatons carriage, in her opinion. She could assume that the Beauxbatons carriage had a few decent charms on it, but the Durmstrang ship was not only magically altered to be able to travel underseas, it was very obviously a part of history. She knew, just by appearance, it was a reconstructed it's origins were unknown, and a ship that old, from a school that old, was bound to have very interesting magic in it's woodwork.

Hermione had forgotten the letter in her hand, her mind in a tirade across the subjects, but she tore herself away to finish the letter.

_I was thinking that you would be interested in learning about Durmstrang and our ship like I am in learning about Hogwarts. I can return you your book then too. If you don't like this plan then I can return you your book in the library. Send back a response, please, and I hope I will be answering many questions about our ship today._

Hermione was up the steps to the girl's dormitory and down into the common room again in a flash, lugging with her shoes, winter cloak, one of her hand-knitted scarves and gloves along with parchment and quill. She scribbled a few lines onto the parchment and was out the hole and through the portrait towards the owlery without a second thought as to her answer.

It wasn't a hard choice.

She could just imagine what her day would be like if she didn't go: Ron and Harry would most likely skulk about the common room, play wizard's chess, ignoring the homework that was due the next day and the abundance of work looming over the horizon for the final week in classes before their winter break. She knew that final week they would be stormed with loads of work and no inclination to do it. They would procrastinate until the last minute to finish the work that was due on Monday and try to get her to help with it just as she was ready to sit down with a good book in front of the fire. If not that, they would talk about Quiddich, mess around with some of George and Fred's little trick-toys, or talk about... she didn't know... high-tech broomsticks and the latest technology concerning them. Seriously! If lessons were just about broomsticks and Quiddich, those two would be at the top of the class. No one would be able to stop them.

Meanwhile, Hermione still couldn't get a broomstick to properly jump up at her command.

She just didn't want to deal with it's foolishness. Or theirs.

* * *

Her two legs, quite perfectly capable of carrying her the decent distance, carried her to the west tower. She was quite right to bundle up. The owlery was chilly and she could see frost on some of the perches and hay on the ground.. No one was there. Hermione called sweetly out to her favorite school owl, Hilde, feeling as excited as a child about to go on a field trip.

"Hey pretty girl..." She cooed, approaching Hilde, whose name was on a yellowed sign underneath her perch. "I've got a letter for you." She was a medium-sized brown and beige long-eared owl. She was old and rather worn looking, her big eyes a dull amber, her long feathery ears drooping. Hermione ran a gloved hand over the side of Hilde very gently. Hilde's closed eyes opened up slowly. Not many students used the older owls, and very few used Hilde. No one trusted her for long distances either. Hermione overhead a girl complaining about letters taking too long to come back under Hilde's care. Hermione, since then, took to using Hilde to deliver letters for untaxing trips whenever possible. Hilde knew Hermione by voice and appearance, even with Hermione's hair cut shorter this year than her usual mane.

Hilde looked in need of exercise and warmth. She bristled up, her feathers puffing up in a wave across her body, and slowly leaned up and put out a shaky foot. This motion tugged at her heart, quelling Hermione's excitement. Hermione slowed down. She thought about it, then an idea came. She opened up the note tucked in her hand and put it against the windowsill to add a P.S. to her reply. Then with another gentle massage down Hilde's back, she tucked the letter into Hilde's outstretched claw and the owl was off, slowly but surely sailing down towards the Durmstrang ship like a fortress in the lake.

_Viktor Krum,_

_I received your letter and yes, I would very much appreciate the opportunity to see the Durmstrang ship. Since you gave no time for me to be there I think it's safe to assume that I can leave as soon as you get this letter? If I'm there too early then I can come back to the castle._

_P.S. If it's not too much trouble, could you please give Hilde a drink of water? It's very cold out and she's not in the best of health. Something warmer might be better._

_-Hermione Granger_

* * *

Feeling somewhat like a fugitive, Hermione left the castle all bundled up from the cold. The walk wasn't far (it was further to the Quiddich field) but the ship loomed off in the distance on the lake. It only loomed larger as she approached. There were no students milling out now. The grass was a pale green, mostly browned from the frost, and the lake was at sluggish roll, the ship in the water the only thing keeping most of the lake from freezing over completely. In the sky there was no sign of the sun, instead, being covered by a fuzzy haze. She could see her breath smoke from her lips and disappear against the gray sky.

Hermione approached the walk that connected the deck of the ship to the grass near the edge of the lake. She could only spot the dark outline of Viktor... At least, she assumed it was him. He was alone on the deck of the ship near the walk. She almost confused him for a bust or a statue except that as she neared the edge of the plank he moved down the steep angle and strode towards her very promptly. He wasn't bundled up like her. Instead he was in the moderately snug burgundy-colored Durmstrang robes.

Viktor had proposed the idea but hadn't really expected it to follow through as well as it was now happening. It was still early morning, around nine o'clock, and his nervousness of the situation was transmitted into his usual: closing himself down and remaining mostly quiet while putting his hands behind his back. But at the hesitation on her side he was quickly reminded that he had, in fact, proposed this little outing and, frightfully enough, was going to be the director of it. So instead of prolonging it, he decided to speak first before she could give him any indication otherwise. He didn't want her to regret coming out here. With her in front of him it was at least a form of encouragement.

"The other students are not here and von't be coming back until the evening time. I do not know vhat time exactly. They vent to Hogsmeade and to sightseeing. I thought it vould be easier to see everything if there vere not as many people around." He made lead and headed up the walkway towards the deck of the ship. It was quite a rise in height up towards the deck.

Hearing the footsteps trudge up behind him was enough to have him need to face away from her, but hearing her soft voice reply without hesitation sent him into a mindset of pure exhiliration. He usually couldn't achieve that kind of momentum unless he was on a broomstick. He wondered if it was really happening.

"Oh?" He heard her ask. "A lot of Durmstrang students haven't been to Hogsmeade?"

"It is too far from home. I think they are making a trip of it." He also knew Kakaroff wasn't on-ship today either. He was off on a business trip. Kakaroff would never allow a non-Durmstrang student onboard, despite who it was that asked him. Even Viktor couldn't be able to presuade him differently on the subject. So today was really the only option. As soon as Viktor had heard a knock on his door at 7 in the morning, come face-to-face groggily with Natasha and had been asked if he wanted to explore the surrounding area? They would be flying out as far as they could ride, then back to Hogsmeade in the evening for the famous butterbeer by Rosmerta (no butterbeer was like hers), and loitering around the area as long as they could. They would most likely have their meals off-ship. They must take advantage of Kakaroff's abrupt leave.

Viktor was wide awake then, instantly declining, and pulling on a shirt. Natasha shrugged, saying, "Suit yourself." and wondering how he could pass it up, before heading in the other direction. Viktor had sat down at his desk and picked up a quill, spending at least a better part of hour figuring out how to word the letter.

"Have you been to Hogsmeade yet? Didn't you want to go?"

"No, I am not vorried. I vill have other opportunities." But there wasn't another opportunity for _this._

When they reached the top of the deck Viktor forced himself to turn around. She was just several feet behind him, unused to the strenuous climb up the walk. But when she finally stepped on board the change was instantaneous. A look of surprise crossed her face that Viktor caught in confusion. He was confused for a moment at her confusion, then a small bead of sweat on her face reminded him of the temperature change she was experiencing. He could almost see the heat wave move the air around her face. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I am forgetting to tell you...The ship is magically sealed around the entire -er-" He struggled for the word.

"Perimeter?" She offered, tugging at the scarf around her neck.

"Yes. Like a bubble around the entire ship there's a barrier vhere the temperature is regulated inside. Ve haff to have it for vhen ve are travelling underwater. That vay ve only have to bundle up when we get off the ship. But then I do not feel the cold very much myself until I have been outside too long. I vas not thinking."

"It makes perfect sense. And this is coupled with some kind of water-seal charm? It has to be a very powerful and rather large charm..." She instantly moved to the railing of the ship and peered over from the side.

Her smile was a bit silly and sheepish but it definitely warmed him up very quickly. He wished he was out in the chilly cold to cool him down a bit. With his hands frozen behind his back he explained all he knew about the barrier on the ship, which wasn't very much to tell the truth, but each sentence seemed to please her vastly.

"Before every trip, the students who vill be on the trip reinforce the magical barrier. It is very old magic and vas still around the ship vhen the founders of Durmstrang found the wreck. The original owners of the ship must have been very powerful vizards. Ve fill in the the holes and ve do many tests to make sure it is prepared before setting sail. If not ve will not be liking it."

She smiled. He looked away.

He was learning very quickly that any previously unknown information to her was the key to unlocking her undivided attention. He hoped he would be doing a lot of that even though the brunt of her attention on him was actually quite overwhelming.

He went to take her cloak, scarf and gloves from her but she cast a shrinking spell on the lot before shoving them into her pocket. Not having that bundle in her arms made all the difference for him to properly see her now. In the library she was usually hunched over and under her school uniform and robes. She was a waif of a thing. Her sweater, a baggy maroon knit with a yellowish "R" on the front covered her entire top half, but a pair of mildly tight jeans fitted her legs rather too well. Her hair was shorter than he'd really thought but it was so bushy that it still seemed like there was a lot of it. It framed her face and the excited grin on it was coupled with a patience that really didn't befit that of a 14-year old. She _really_ didn't look fourteen. But he'd tell himself anything to feel better about that certain particular. Looking at her like that, lean and pretty, flushed and excited, he just turned around again and remained that way for the better part of ten minutes as they traveled the length of the deck. He jumped into explanation of the ship. She walked at his side, her head craning around her. She had a question for every break in his explanation.

"What's the name of the ship?"

"The Lady Meridian."

"She's a salvaged wreck isn't she? What are her origins? Her sails look Spanish... but the boat itself looks Viking influenced. Maybe Nordic?"

"She vas a pirate ship magically... rebuilt... centuries ago from Iceland, most likely. Of course, longships like that vere small. The pirates mostly likely enlarged the ship's base and added masts and sails... The ship vas most likely not the Lady Meridian then. Lady Meridian was a Mermish princess who helped the pirate crew at one point on their journey. At least, that's vhat she says."

Talking about what was common knowledge to him wasn't hard. He even fell into it, trying to recall as many facts as he might have forgotten over the years. Talking this much felt weird to him, but so did being together with her. He did find himself trying to be more intelligent then he thought himself to be and was unsure if that was good or bad. Staying quiet only helped to make her presence all the louder. Her presence was distracting. But slowly... very slowly, he was learning to at least keep the conversation going. He would try to at least put in that effort. The longer he could inform her, the longer she would be there, the more she was immersed in his world. But he also knew that today was borrowed tim, and he would have to do today what must be done. But... not right now. Not at this moment.

"She?"

"There is a vooden carving of the Lady Meridian at the front of the ship. Vould you like to see her?"

She nodded her assent.

"Ve vill have to turn around." They had made their way to the back of the ship. He thought that if he showed her the student quarters he would have no way of knowing how she would think of it so he opted to explain instead while they trekked back.

"The entire ship vas converted ven it was found in the ocean by the pirates, but ve also made many changes as vell. Ve have been taking more trips, and especially for this trip ven we learned ve would be staying at Hogvarts, ve converted the old cannon rooms into rooms for us. Of course Kakaroff is in the captain's cabin and ve are not allowed to be going in there but the student's rooms are vhere all the cannon holes on the side of the ship vere. Ve vere enlarging them to be having more room. In the end it has made traveling more pleasant since ve vere not needing the cannons. Now ve look through the old cannon holes as vindows."

"It must be beautiful looking at the ocean from under the surface of the water. You're very lucky, too. That's much more impressive than a large library." Hermione recalled Viktor's impression of their library, but she would have given a month of library time to have one ride on the Lady Meridian under the ocean, to see the life around it and the sea from the bottom of the ocean floor.

"There is nothing at all like it... I vish I could show you." But then he remembered as they neared the bronzed painted bust of Lady Meridian to warn her. "Oh. Do not be upset, Lady Meridian is very..." He struggled for the expression. "...threatened by other women. She's been known to say rather rude things. She's used to a male-only crew, but she knows a lot of things about the ship. She sailed many years with the pirates."

Hermione looked another level of excited now and he could tell she was trying not to show it too much.

They were nearing Lady Meridian, whose bust had a very regal face, long wavy hair, and skinny arms lifted up around her head. Her lower arms and hands wrapped into the thickly carved hair. Each tendril of hair was carved into an elegant piece. A small section of hair on both sides of Lady Meridian fell down to cover her naked breasts. Lady Meridian sat, large tail and all, atop the railing on the ship, facing away from the protruding curved neck that extended from the boat itself. It was carved into a dragon's neck and face, culturally clashing with the more festive mermaid.

Hermione had half-expected the Mermaid to be on the front of the ship underneath the pointed front, but that wouldn't have been very practical and it would have been very isolating for a talking, moving, and she assumed, pretentious bust of a Mermish Princess.

"Ooooooh my~," Lady Meridian's half-bubbly, half-human voice called out to them before they could be within several feet of her, "Aren't yoooou a sore sight?" She was primarily looking at Hermione.

Yes, she was pretentious, but Hermione wasn't bothered. She had a lot of questions.

"Follow my lead." He said quietly to Hermione. Viktor stuck his arm out at the elbow and made to turn round. "Vell, nevermind then. We also haff other things to see." Hermione, catching on quickly, put her hand on his arm and he tucked it under his.

They walked away slowly, but not slowly enough for one-half of the couple. They could hear a very distinct "Hmph! Haaaave it yooour waaay~" She bubbled at them, obviously offended and angry. It took maybe a moment for what Viktor was waiting for. The moment wasn't long enough, burning under the touch of Hermione. He'd felt a shiver through his body and her hand wasn't even on bare skin.

"Waaait... Hey, I'll be good, okaaaay~?" It was a very girlish voice, maybe too girlish for most people's tastes. Hermione turned and Viktor unwillingly did as well. Hermione was in front of the Mermish Princess Meridian eagerly.

He looked at Hermione, who looked like she had a question but didn't want to offend the touchy princess, so Viktor cleared his throat and addressed the statue. "Ve vere vanting to know about your history and any stories you vould like to share vith us."

Princess Meridian clasped her hands together, obviously trying to improve her "assets", which didn't really work well on wooden breasts. Viktor stared evenly at her face, as he usually did on the few occasions he ever spoke to her. Like with most people, it wasn't often for Viktor Krum.

The princess knew this, never forgetting a face, especially a famous one. She even thought he was kind of cute in that young-man nearly full-grown sort of way. His posture could be straighter she had often thought, but he was standing much taller today. "Yooou're never interested in my stories, Mr. Viktor Krum. It's kind of offensive, darling~ It makes me think you don't caaaare..." She fluttered her eyelashes at him, lowering her eyes and tilting her head downwards. She was always more interested in the guys that ignored her, finding more thrill when they finally became attracted to her. Her sweet personality changing like a flash, she looked at the bushy haired girl to the other side of her with a glare, already blaming the homely girl for Viktor's taller stature. "I guess yooou're the one that really wants to know?" It wasn't a question really, more of an accusation. She bit her lip as if wanting to say more, but a look at Viktor kept Meridian from saying anything really nasty. Meridian crossed her arms over her chest and straightened up, avoiding any looks to Hermione lest she slip up.

"I am." Hermione replied. "If you don't mind, that is."

Meridian slapped her wooden tail against the railing in aggravation. "Aaaand what does she want to know?" She asked Viktor. Viktor gave her a sour look and Meridian flicked her head to the side now closing her eyes.

* * *

"...And then I had Captain Tully give me the cutest boy on the ship as a reward! He was so cute... Just this loooong blonde hair so light, like the moon. It was wavy and cut below his shoulders you know. Well, we all knew THAT wouldn't work out. I nearly killed him bringing him underwater with me. I didn't really think... He was just too cute~! In the end Captain Tully transfigured him a merman tail and he became my king. Well, THAT was a trip in itself trying to make him king instead of one of the suitors I had down in the kingdom. You can't beat love~ But," She sighed dramatically, "Even with a merman tail, humans just don't last that long. He died after a few decades, then I ended up choosing one of the suitors. Well, not _me _me, my real form."

"When were _you_ made?" Hermione asked.

Lady Meridian hadn't told her story to anyone in a few years so she was so civil with talking that she nearly faced Hermione. In reality, all Meridian could manage was directing her gaze to the space between the two of them.

"Well~ THIS me was made by Clareese." She ran her fingers through her thick tendrils and gave a pose. "You might know him as 'Cook'. Silly name. His name is Clareese. Back when he made me he was one of the MOST handsome men. Just this thick black hair and thick beard. It tickled me when he was working on my lower half." There was no shamelessness in this statement. "Well, I really think he fell in love with me, my _real_ self AND me, too. I think he wanted to come with me back to the kingdom, but he was just a kid, and not very good looking then. Plus, I was really diggin' blondes back then..." She sent a wink in Hermione's direction, too preoccupied in herself to notice she was treating another woman nicely. Any women was okay if she was listening to her life story and asking all sorts of questions pertaining to herself.

"But Clareese... Oh Clareese... He got old, too. And when the ship went down everyone was swept off the ship except for him. I don't know what happened really. I think we hit rocks. Clareese was in the kitchens. It was one of those rare days the door was closed. Clareese was making a rum cake for Captain Tully's birthday. It was supposed to be a surprise. Well, _that_ didn't happen and it wasn't a happy birthday."

For the first time that Viktor had known Lady Meridian's statue, a sincere look crossed her face. She was looking out towards the lake, sulking somewhat.

"Clareese died in the kitchens, but I guess he stayed there in the end. He won't leave the kitchens though. He still cooks like there's a feast on the way. Well, we sank... really, really far down. Too bad we didn't sink closer to home then I could have at least run into some people from the kingdom. But no one ever came. I can move but I can't leave this spot. Magick'd on I guess." She shrugged. "I don't know how long we were down there but... it was lonely..."

Hermione, who up until that point thought her petty and superficial, but still rapt in attention, took a good look at Princess Meridian. The paint on her was chipped in places and there were some places on her tail that had broken off and hadn't been fixed properly. She looked worn and torn, stretched thin over the years. All the people she saw and interacted with would eventually move on and rarely come back. It was a continuous cycle, even more so with a group of students who would grow from childhood before her very eyes and disappear after 7 years, unlikely to come back for a visit.

"Well! Then they had to get all this icky stuff off me... Ewww, it was soooo groooosss~ It was all over my tail, you know. Of course I got off what I could. I mean, I had plenty of time and I wanted to look good when we were rescued! Then those witches and wizards found us close to their homeland. I guess we weren't too far off. They used their magic to bring the ship back up to the surface and cleaned the ship up. And then some scrubby looking boy came to clean me off. Well, I wasn't having THAT now... I demanded and persuaded them until they got me someone better. I guess one of the school founders ended up doing it. I guess that's okay. I would have preferred someone better... And, as much fun as it is seeing strong fit young men on the ship, seeing cute boys grow up into handsome men..." She trailed off then gave a loving sigh; it didn't really look like she was suffering.

Viktor felt uncomfortable now since he had had numerous occasions when no one was on ship where he walked around shirtless, sometimes with less than that, and went swimming. As if reading his mind, Meridian looked pointedly at him with a mischievous smile. But she continued on.

"Well, Captain Tully and his crew talked to me all the time and they celebrated on deck right next to me. They even trained Cocoa to not get on me and do his dirty business." Meridian wriggled in the spot thinking about it. "Ick!"

"They _worshipped_ me really. I think all of them loved me. I loved all of them! I even loved the ones who weren't that good-looking. They were all mine. I was their woman, their mother, and their savior... I was someone to talk to in the middle of the night. I wish I could make a million copies of myself so I can love everyone!"

Hermione, hoping to progress in a more specific direction, went to asking questions about the original founders and what they were like. Meridian answered at first, but when the questions became less and less about her she took less pleasure in answering, eventually sending an annoyed glare at the girl. Meridian yawned and stretched. "Well, I'm going to get some beauty rest." She said abruptly, not looking tired whatsoever and not even five minutes ago had been jumping around in her seat in excitement. "Tell Clareese I send my love. He's got sooo many stories about me~" She blew a kiss in the direction directly behind them. Hermione could almost see the heart waft over towards the cabin leading down into the galley and lower levels.

"Should we?" Viktor asked.

She agreed, feeling Meridian wouldn't answer any questions of merit, to Hermione's great disappointment. They went across the deck of the ship to the cabin and headed down a squeaking set of wooden stairs. The door opened up into a room where tables and chairs were bolted to the floor. The entire area was deserted and at the very end of that room there was a door that swung open and closed both ways at the very slightest movement of the ship. At the top of the door there was a tiny little window whose glass was so smudged and dirty you couldn't see into the room even if you wiped it off from the outside and peered in. Viktor held the door open and Hermione gasped.

She had expected to see a ghost, of course. It was one of the only ways for an original crew member to be on the ship. But she hadn't expected raucous booming laughter and an owl that looked suspiciously like Hilde swaying in the spot from foot to foot drinking what looked to be red wine from a goblet. It was very apparent Hilde was drunk and very apparent that the instigator of the entire affair was from a man who, large and round with silver fluffy beard, mustache and hook on one hand, was topping off the goblet from a suspicious liquid from what looked to be his own personal flask.

"Har har haaaar! That's a good birdie, then, ain'tche? Yes ma'am, you'll feel teh rush in no time. Ye don't need teh water of the sea to rock yeh. This stuff'll rock ye legs on land me lass. 'Attagirl. I'lleven give ye a drop of the good stuff. " Another bound of laughter from the cook and he went to stirring something in a large pot of what looked to be vegetable soup with his shining hook. When the cook noticed them he pulled the hook from the pot and wiped it on his stained apron. A bit of carrot and some of the broth from the soup lid off his belly and down onto the ground as if couldn't be soaked into his apron, which meant those stains had been there for several decades. It was all very impressive considering Hermione's experiences with Hogwarts' ghosts and their inability to pick up solid objects and manipulate them. But nothing was impressive enough for Hermione to say very stiffly, "You got the school owl drunk?"

The Cook, ignoring the accusation, shouted out at Viktor with a toothy grin, many of those teeth missing and some of them gold. "Ha! Me boy, ye got ye a spoil of war do yeh?" gesturing to Hermione. Hermione was ahead of Viktor and therefore didn't see Viktor's reaction, but Hermione didn't even acknowledge the old-world ideology. When Hilde saw Hermione Hilde leapt up into the air and sailed headlong, all wings and feathers, into Hermione's face. She lifted up her arms to grab the owl before she could sail sideways into the ground. Hilde cooed enthusiastically, as if to say, "Look at me!" Hermione could smell hard liquor on her beak. She was licking said beak for the rest of the taste of the new wine she had acquired. Apparently the wine had been tainted with some sort of ghost liquor from the Cook's flask. Hilde was quickly heading towards complete stupor.

Hermione turned to Viktor, who took full responsibility and explained, "I vas thinking that Cook vould haff something for her. I did not think he vould give her drink. Vell..." Viktor thought, considering Cook, "at least not THAT much."

"Whatche squalling about now? I did'n hold the drink up to her beak." He laughed, big belly shaking, "It too' very li'l persuasion. Once she got herself a nip there was no stoppin' her. She's got herself a spirit for the spirits! Just like me ol' buddy Cocoa. Rest in piece his soul, aye. 'Twas a fine speciman of a bird, he was." Cook wiped away a tear from his cheek, the translucent tear going through his good hand.

Hermione couldn't argue against a ghost who ignored half the words she said and even reluctantly admitted to herself that Hilde looked better than she had this morning and was her own "bird", so to speak. So pressured into it from the Cook, Hermione somehow found herself sitting at one of the tables outside of the kitchens after letting a very insistent Hilde stay in the kitchens with him, sitting directly across from Viktor. She only hoped Cook didn't have any owl recipes. Viktor assured her of Hilde's safety. Viktor explained that the cook had been good friends with the Captain's parrot at one point. It was probably the worst luck that the parrot hadn't also left a ghost to keep the Cook company.

Cook came bumbling out of the kitchens, hook hand replaced with an attachment that, Hermione noted with surprise, was a tray. Then she realized that the knife, ladle, and indeed, the apparently stainless steel hook hanging from string around his apron all had screwed attachments at the end of them that looked like they went where his hand had been lobbed off.

"Here ye go. Open ye hatches! Shovel it in!" The loud hooting from Hilde came through the door from the kitchens and the Cook turned around trudging back to the door shouting, "Hold ye tail feathers, missy! I'll top ye off again, ye lush! Ye want liver problems!"

He disappeared back into the kitchens.

Viktor had to warn her again. "Sometimes the food is very good. Sometimes... not so much. Some parts of the kitchen vere left intact from the wreck vhich means... they are ghost items? Ve do not really understand it very much ourselves. So Cook vill make something and, as long as he uses the real items, the food is good. Ve had tried to magic avay the ghost food but it von't go have also tried to tell him not to cook vith that but he does not listen vell. He lives in the past. He can't leave this part of the ship so he doesn't understand vhat life is like and how it has changed. He thinks ve are pirates in training, I am thinking."

"How does he move things? The ghosts at our school can't interact with anything."

"The founders did some very complicated magic to enable him to be useful again, I think. Ve don't know for sure."

Hermione, who had been waiting for the soup to cool off, took a bite. She chewed slowly and Viktor watched her face. She tried to smile, but when Viktor pulled out his wand and asked, "That bad?", she pushed the bowl forward for him to sippon the liquid out with his wand. They struggled to eat the vegetables in a few mouthfuls and snuck away before the Cook could come back out, if he did at all.

* * *

Hermione was happy to know there were two more floors to explore. At one point they meandered around a small bookshelf in one corner that Viktor had forgotten was even there. Needless to say, they stayed around that little section for an hour or two.

Viktor had been worried there wouldn't be enough to fill the day, but when they came up onto the deck of the ship again it was nearly dark out. Of course, the early evening in Winter helped with that. It was also nearing time for the Durmstrang students to be coming back from Hogsmeade. He could see a few meadering towards the ship from far off, the height of the ship tall enough to spot them as specks coming through the gate. He didn't want to take the risk of being spotted with Hermione on the ship, and figured despite the odds of the information being leaked to Kakaroff, wanted to keep their outing something of a secret for himself. So upon seeing the first early returners off in the distance, Viktor suggested heading back to the castle for an early dinner. Hermione, who hadn't eaten very much of the cook's food, and really only had that early breakfast, agreed easily enough.

Viktor suggested that Hilde would be better off sleeping in Viktor's room until she could be fit for flight again. Hermione also didn't want anyone to wonder who got the school's most elderly owl dangerously drunk on whatever ghost-spirits that cook had given her. Hermione thought she'd seen the cook looking slightly dishearted at losing his "drinking buddy" when they went to go retrieve her. Hilde had been fast asleep.

At some point while the two had been down in the gallery with Cook it had started snowing, and heavily. Hermione didn't waste any time engorging her cloak and putting it around her shoulders. She put the black material around her over her copy of Hogwarts: A History to keep it from getting wet.

Viktor, trailing slightly behind her in the silence, knowing now was the time, and each minute he wasted the more he was apt not to saying anything at all, trailed even further behind her. His feet were on auto-walk again and his hands were slightly sweaty even in the cold around them.

"I hope you vere not too bored today." He managed to get out.

"Oh no, not at all! I had a really good time today, actually. Thanks for asking me." She paused for a moment and he thought that she was going to say something else. She looked like she was holding the next comment in.

"Vell..." Now was his only chance in sight. "... I knew you vould appreciate it the most. Most people vould have gone vith me to get an autograph or to spend time vith..." A famous Quiddich player. "Vell..." This was his moment, the perfect opportunity. Well, maybe not perfect, but the best chance he had.

They were directly in front of the huge doors leading to the main entrance of Hogwarts, no one in sight around them. It was like his entire day had led him to this one point. Regardless of the outcome he had to do it. He would regret it if he didn't. He paused and stopped, the snow falling around him the only thing familiar as he opened his mouth uncomfortably. "You are different from the other girls. In a good vay." He added, knowing his tendency to not elaborate enough.

Hermione had stopped in her tracks then, maybe sensing he had stopped as well. He didn't know if she was hearing him but he continued.

Speaking louder he said, "It took me a very long time to summon the courage to talk to you... That's vhy I vas alvays in the library. I vas trying to talk to you." It was like she was frozen in the snow. He could see her shivering, but he didn't know if it was because of the cold or if she just wanted to run away.

He looked towards his feet, unable to look at her. If she ran away he didn't want to see it.

"I vill regret if I don't ask... If you are not going vith..." That Harry Potter. His hands clenched into fists. "...vith someone else... Vill you go to the Yule Ball with me?" He asked this as if he was unsure he was even doing it. She just continued to stand with her back to him. She was hugging her book to her. He noticed it when he lifted his eyes up just enough to see if she was still there.

She was shivering even harder now. He instantly went to put a hand on her back. She turned to him and stepped away. She looked upset. Her face was very red. She looked on the verge of tears. He stood there directly opposite of her not daring to step closer to her in case she stepped away again.

She only said, "You want to go with _me_?"

"Yes." Was all he could think to say, and did. He was confused.

Her expression after surprise turned hard and stonelike. She asked evenly, "Who put you up to it?"

Viktor blinked. "Vhat?"

"Who put you up to this? Is it some sort of bet?" Her upper lip quivered very slightly, but it was set into a thin line again.

"_I_ put myself up to this." He said, feeling very confused and slightly offended. "I vant to ask before anyone asks you. I may already be too late." But then he saw it. The incredulousness and the confusion on her own face. It was dawning on him what she must be thinking. The question on her face hidden beneath the defenses plainly asked: Why choose _me_?

He always thought of himself as Viktor. Everyone else always saw him as Viktor Krum, famous Bulgarian Seeker and now, participant in the first Triwizard Championship for the first time in a century.

He was angry at human nature and how it conspired against him to make nearly simple tasks unnecessarily complicated. Trying to hold back the anger he thought would come out in his voice, he replied very evenly, "I do not alvays have the luxury of choosing everything I do but I vill alvays have the right to choose who I vant to go to a dance with."

It took less than a moment after hearing these words for her face to crumple and her hand to come up and cover her eyes. She was crying. His frustrations went out the window. He stood there awkwardly instead, wanting to close those two steps of distance between them. She looked as if a floodgate of emotions had surfaced, but she also looked like she was attempting to push it them back down.

"I'm sorry..." She leaned her head down further but the tears were streaming. "No one has ever treated me like... _that_... like a girl."

He blurted out, "How could they not?"

A smile on her face appeared, but it was both amused and anguished. She shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of the sleeve. A few tears kept coming out.

"The problem is that you are too smart and mature for the people you are around. They also seem to be very blind, and you cannot help that."

Her face got redder, but it could be for the multiple reasons working against her: the snow, her tears, and the cold outside whipping around them.

"You should be going inside." He moved to open the door, trying to not make it harder on her, but she said quietly, "Wait." Before he could put his hand on the handle.

She wiped her tears away for good this time, giving a small smile. She looked embarrassed but her smile wasn't insincere.

"I don't know how to do the opening dance." She said, both of them glad for the large flakes of snow falling in front of their faces. "If you'll teach me, then... I'd feel a lot better about doing the opening dance."

Viktor knew asking, "Then you vill go vith me?" was a redundant question but he couldn't help himself. When he saw the nod and the smile and heard the word "Yes." he turned around to hide himself, feeling a very personal triumph in his chest, before opening the door and saying, "You vill catch cold out here."

With red faces they entered the giant Hogwarts foyer, and to others who might have happened to glance at them, nothing seemed out of the ordinary


	4. Protect Me

Author's note: Hello all! It's me again. You can call me a liar, or dead, even. I don't think I was quicker than last time? I struggled with one scene, which has me rather self-conscious, really. I hope this chapter pleases, though. I decided to write what I wanted to happen instead of what I thought others would want. I realized what kind of scenes I particularly like. Bet you can guess! Also, I chopped up Viktor's speech even more because I realized I love him primarily for his adorable accent. Sorry if that offends some Bulgarians who might happen to find themselves here. I think one or two people from Bulgaria have actually looked at this story? That makes me feel really weird... like, I hope I don't ruin the character they obviously are here for! I ended up making a, well I can't call it a _mistake_, really... I showed a friend of mine this story and he gave me some input. I ask boys about boy mind-sets. From the mouths of babes! But now when I put up chapters I'm like, "Oh CRAP, I showed him! Now he's gonna see my dirty smut!" BAH! LET HIM READ IT! I don't care! He's a sweet friend and I ended up tainting his mind. I'd told him about and now he's reading at it for a few hours a day. I say, "A FEW HOURS? That's it? I remember when I read fan fiction from 3pm after school until 12am and later." We can only taint one person at a time. Have you done your obligatory tainting today? Hop to it! He's already planning a fan fiction to write. "Boy, slow down!~" Anywho, I planned to incorporate the Yule Ball dance scene in this chapter but I figured that would be quite a big thing on it's own. I don't want to make you guys so mad you'll track me down to my house and hit me until chapters are finished in an orderly time frame. I'm seriously disappointed in myself! There's an interesting Viktor/Hermione fic called "Lovegood Extermination Service". It's one of the stories I watch. This person literally puts out like three chapters to everyone one chapter I do. I'm like, "STOP! You're making me look bad!" Alas. No more yammering. Read! Maybe review? I love them so much. I don't even care if it's a smiley face or something. I ain't gonna beg... but hey. Put a smile on this little face.

Also, a special _thank you!_ goes to a person I was talking to today in Youtube comments about Harry Potter stuff. They were kind enough to be interested in my fanfic and leave some BEAUTIFUL comments. I was very touched, and wanted to mention to them: THANKS!

Now I'll be quiet... Seriously!

* * *

Ron and Harry were in the common room with a few other Gryffindors who were also doing their homework at the last minute. Ron had been waiting for Hermione to get back from wherever she'd went. Maybe she'd found a secret hiding place in the library, because he hadn't found her there. It wouldn't be a surprise if she'd figured out how to open that portrait of Valeria Myriadd that was reputed to have never been opened since it was put into the library. He even knocked on it and called through the wall, no one else was around except for Harry. Lady Myriadd didn't look as if she appreciated it.

Now that she had returned, settling down in front of the fire with a book in front of her face, he opened his mouth to ask her a question on his Potions essay but stopped mid-sentence, for the first time in his life recognizing the book she was hiding behind (minus schoolbooks of course) "Wait, that's not my book is it?"

"I'm not a book-stealer, Ron."

Ron waved that away. "No... well, I don't mind if you did." She gave him a look. "But you didn't... No, what I mean is... You're interested in Quiddich now?" Hermione hadn't read a Quiddich book since their first year when she felt knowing about the sport would be good for the sake of Harry's first ever match against Slytherin.

Harry looked up, too. "What?" Harry looked at the title of the book. "Oh, that's a good one, Hermione."

Hermione looked at them a little oddly. "First of all... I got this book from the library. Secondly, no. I'm not interested in Quiddich."

"But... You're reading a Quiddich book..."Ron replied slowly.

"Yes, I am." She said firmly in a very finalized tone. She rose the book up quickly to cover her face, apparently intent to be getting back to it.

Ron's look was dumbfounded. He nudged Harry and Harry shrugged. Ron shook his head and went back to his potion's essay. When he remembered a moment later why he'd lifted his head from his work in the first place, Hermione was across the room in a corner by one of the big fireplaces with Ginny. Hermione had Ginny in tow as they left the common room together.

Well, the night was young. He could get her help when she came back. The thought of a Quiddich knowledgeable Hermione kept coming back to his mind and it was a funny and pleasant little image to him. What wasn't pleasant was the amount of parchment he had left to fill before he met the bare minimum for his essay.

* * *

The next morning Hermione had a nice surprise in the form of a large owl. Hilde flew down in front of Hermione looking like a million bucks. Hilde cooed lovingly, a little unsteady on her feet.

'Is she hungover?' Hermione wondered. But Hilde looked much better than she had in a long time. Hermione offered some pumpkin juice to her from a unused goblet next to her and offered her some eggs on a different plate. Hilde's long feathered ears wiggled in self-interest. It wasn't necessarily smiled upon to feed the owls or to let them linger on the tables, but it was early enough and not many professors were at breakfast just then. Hilde dropped the newspaper and another tiny enveloped letter. It was also addressed: _Miss Granger_.

Hermione pinkened slightly, thinking it way to early in the morning for that, but took up the little letter. Harry and Ron weren't confused today in their schedules. They were still sleeping, learning their lesson from waking up as early as Hermione had yesterday. But they should be up soon. It was Monday, and they were having a series of small exams today. She didn't know about Harry. She thought Triwizard Champions got off scott-free, but did that apply to 4th year champions?

Wondering if she could handle whatever was in the letter, she figured she had nothing to lose. No one would really be awake enough to see her reaction, anyway. She opened the letter, confirming the tiny writing to be Viktor's and perused the letter. She smiled reading the opening lines, then shook her head, sending a judgmental look at Hilde.

_Good morning,_

_This is Viktor. This morning when I went to send Hilde off she was not in my room. I looked around in vain, but I knew where she was at. Cook and her are good friends now. They were, of course, drinking and celebrating their morning with hard liquor. I tried to correct Cook but there is no controlling him. _

"Hilde!" She chastised. "So early in the morning!"

Hilde threw a... what was that? ... a sassy look over her shoulder with a little bit of scrambled egg hanging from her beak. She looked a lot glossier than usual. Was it normal to be in good health from excessive drinking? Even the yellow in her eyes was more golden and shiny.

Hermione gave Hilde a playful poke and Hilde turned around to give a playful nip back.

_I will leave the time and place for our practice up to you. I have no schoolwork and nothing to keep me away so don't hesitate to send a letter if you want to._

_-Viktor Krum_

"Will you wait on me, Hilde? I'm going to write a quick response back."

Hilde did something much like a purr, but for an owl, and tilted her head towards the now empty plate. Hermione, who was fishing in her bag for a quill looked up. She pursed her lips. "I don't know about you now."

Hilde's response was to walk back to the bowl of scrambled eggs expectantly. Hermione loaded up the plate with eggs and a little bit of sausage and bacon. Then she set to her response, thinking for a minute before setting quill to parchment.

_Good morning Viktor,_

_I had an excellent time yesterday! I'm shocked at Hilde but I wouldn't want to deprive Cook of a friend. Hilde has looked healthier and happier than I've ever seen her. I'll most likely use her to send my letters from now on. I don't think the school will object to her staying on the ship between letters if that's alright. It __is__ still on the premises. Please tell Cook to take care of her when she's there and if you can't limit her drinking at least check in on her every now and then if you think about it. Sorry to trouble you. _

_This next week will be full of end of term exams and we'll be very busy. How about on Saturday or Sunday? Any time after breakfast is fine with me. If it's a nice day a lot of students might be out at Hogsmeade for Christmas shopping. I'll think about a place during the week and send a response when I've confirmed it._

_-Hermione Granger_

Hermione went back to her breakfast after giving Hilde the letter and pondered somewhat vacantly at her own plate. She moved the food back and forth across the surface, thinking on the last line on the letter with the blind understanding of a girl who is liked by a boy and will always be the last to know it. In Hermione's brain, she thought of how Krum must have thought _her._

He'd said she was "different" from other girls, which she confirmed to herself, 'Well, I'd better be. I'm not a rabid, brainless girl.' In the back of her mind a reminder from her "Lockheart" days resurfaced. She forced that unkindly thought back down.'It seems he's overwhelmed with the fact that there's a girl out there who doesn't fawn over him like a complete idiot. He said I was smart and mature. Compared to _them_, of course I am.'

It was an unfair and a quick thought process, but Hermione ignored what the situation _looked_ like. It looked like Viktor Krum _might_ like her a little bit and that just wasn't really possible. Viktor Krum liking Hermione Granger? She shook her head and finished her final bites of breakfast. Whatever it was, it wasn't that. He was impressed with her confidence to be her own person. In his world as a celebrity, that was a pretty uncommon thing.

She ignored the counter-argument in her brain saying, 'But he said _How could they not treat you like a girl?'_ She retaliated back instantly._ '_It's not like he said you were pretty. Besides, the tournament is about making friends. They're probably not allowed to go with other Durmstrang students.'

Hermione got up, determined to go to the library before classes started. If she hadn't studied so much in all the extra free time they'd been given because of the Triwizard tournament, Hermione would have had a book to her nose and would have disregarded all these unknown factors concerning Quiddich players and Yule Balls. Hermione hoped after Winter Break things would pick up in classes. As things were going academic-wise, even Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't have much of a problem with the exams.

* * *

The next time Viktor saw Hermione in the library it was Wednesday evening and she looked like she was busy studying for what he assumed was one of her exams. At this point he was unsure if he should go to his usual table, leave the library, or even go up to her. Her concentration on the book was so intense he walked along the bookshelves and looked at the books with not even the slightest bit of interest. He sat down at the usual table, opening up a book on Quiddich he hadn't read before. He leafed through a few pages and read a paragraph or two. Reading in English was easier than speaking it and he was often surprised by how much he knew that he hadn't realized. He also hadn't realized he'd been sitting there for an hour wrapped up in old broom designs in some of the earliest Quiddich games. Even the rules had changed drastically. It wasn't even the same sport except for a few minor similarities.

Then a shadow fell over the page he was reading. He looked up only to be surprised that Hermione stood before him. She put a small book in front of him and said evenly, "There's an article on page thirty-seven that you might find interesting." Then she turned around and went back to the table she had come from, going back to writing notes on a long piece of parchment.

One or two girls who had refused to stop coming to the library even when told to by Tabitha Reynolds very vehemently several times, were agast at that little girl's bravery and obstinence in approaching Viktor Krum. They talked together behind the bookshelf near Viktor in hurried low whispers.

"The _nerve_! Is she kidding me!?"

He opened the book and in between page 37 and 38 was a folded up piece of parchment that looked like it had been torn off from something.

It said:

_Sorry I haven't written. I've been busy helping Ron and Harry get caught up enough to do decently on their exams this week. I'm doing some self-study at the moment. I've figured out a place we can practice at. Meet me in front of the library around 10 am on Saturday?_

Hermione hadn't been completely honest, but there it was. She didn't need to study for the final exams for the week. Harry wasn't taking the exams at all and Ron acted much like he didn't have to either. But Hermione had her reasons.

Viktor would have glowered more at reading about "Ron and Harry". He knew Harry was Harry Potter. He didn't know who Ron was, but he guessed it was that red-head who was around her often enough. But the fact that the note was addressed to _him_ made Viktor feel slightly better. He figured there wasn't much justification to get too upset. Instead he replied back:

_That is perfect. Will see you then._

And got up to hand her back the book with the letter folded between those same pages. He said, "That vas a very interesting read. Thank you."

She nodded her head slightly, still engrossed in her book.

Both girls had their mouths open in shock, spying the scene and watching Viktor Krum leave the library. For the next week up until the ball they had sat at the table closest to Viktor, looking as desirable as was possible. They had books in their laps, would cross their bare legs suggestively, and even approached him with books telling him there might be articles worth his interest in Quiddich books they continuously picked up. He told them he had read the books already, "But thank you."

Viktor ended up having to move a few tables away because the girls were blocking him from seeing across the room.

Desperately, they moved several tables away as well, spoke in small whispers more heatedly, and took note from the 4th year Gryffindor. They gave Viktor Krum the "cold shoulder" and waited, but in vain. They ended up accepting offers from non-famous Hogwarts boys who didn't even play Quiddich to go to the Yule Ball with.

* * *

Hermione came through the portrait hole, eyes roaming for two familiar faces. Those two would never miss a meal unless something serious had happened. She was surprised to see them sitting there with Ginny, laughing their heads off.

"Why weren't you two at dinner?" She asked.

Ginny replied because Harry and Ron were laughing too hard. Ginny didn't look too happy. She glowered at them then turned her head to Hermione, answering her question with, "Because - oh shut up laughing, you two -" Ginny bit her lip hard then said rather roughly, "Because they've both just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!" It didn't look like she'd wanted to be so abrupt about it, especially when it made Harry upset, too but her anger had been mounting. Harry also hadn't thought to asked Ginny, either.

"Thanks a bunch, Ginny." Ron said, giving Ginny a look only a sibling could receive and brush off.

Hermione had listened to Ron mouth off about rather pretty girls who just didn't seem to be 'good enough' to take to the Yule Ball. Each one had a defect it seemed. Not a clear enough complexion, too tall or not tall enough, having a different opinion on a favorite Quiddich team, it didn't matter. In the end she eyed Ron with frustration at his inability to recognize the situation. She knew that he would be scrummaging at the last minute trying to get a date for the Yule ball; just like he did with his homework assignments. Hermione's mouth scrunched up and she said, "All the good-looking ones taken, Ron? Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone _somewhere_ who will have you."

"Hermione, Neville's right- you _are_ a girl..."

Hermione sputtered silently, taken aback at the knowledge that Neville must have told them about asking her to the Yule Ball. In had happened in Potion's class. It had been very polite and obviously meant in friendship. She'd told him she couldn't over by the ingredient table. They'd worked together, talking pleasantly, for the rest of the class period. Neville had seemed slightly put off, but in the end he didn't look devastated. Hermione thought he didn't look like he'd expected a "Yes." either.

But Ron, apparently, had reached a revelation. An epiphany so to speak. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest in a very defensive position, the insecurities she had known before anyone needed to bring it to her attention that she wasn't very _much like a girl, _reinforced her personal assertions about her own thoughts. She _wasn't_ very feminine, and everyone could see that. What was it now? Four years being around the two of them?

But, defiantly, she was able to retort rather quickly despite her hurt pride and feelings, "Oh well spotted."

Ron, completely unaware he was stepping all over Hermione's ego, offered as if it was the most obvious solution, "Well - you can come with one of us!"

"No, I can't." 'And won't' she thought.

He pleaded with her further and she stood her ground. "We're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has..." He sounded like a child who was upset that other kids got candy and he didn't.

She felt so much anger at the way he was speaking to her, as if she was _obligated_ to go with him. He acted as if he couldn't believe anyone would ask _Hermione Granger_ out on a date aside from the downtrodden Neville Longbottom. He put zero faith in her ability. It was infuriating. But even in the anger, and especially because of it, Hermione blushed when she said, "I can't come with you because I'm already going with someone else."

There was no pause or minute for doubt. Ron instantly replied, "No, you're not! You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

Hermione, so frustrated in the stupidity that only Ron could aspire to in his moments of boyish ignorance, had a mind to raise her voice and give him a talking to, to tell him _exactly_ why he couldn't get a date for the Yule Ball and how he could be a complete pig when the occasion was right. "Oh _did _I?" She asked, her voice straining even though she wasn't speaking very loudly. "Just because it's taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one _else_ has spotted I'm a girl!"

She wanted to say, 'And his name is Viktor Krum. Know of him?' But she didn't. She wasn't that cruel.

Ginny, who Hermione looked at rather quickly, was sitting there inconspicuous, conveniently finding her nails very interesting and looking down towards her lap.

She could understand it. Harry and Ron were her best friends and she much looked at them in terms of being like an older sister to them, admittedly, sometimes naggy. She truly loved them both, but even though she loved Ron, knowing that however hard they argued everything would be okay again, this time he was injuring her womanly pride, raising his hands as if she was about to attack him and saying, "Okay, okay, we know you're a girl. That do? Will you come now?" It was like he was trying to wrangle an angry lion. Hermione felt more like biting his head off now more than ever. In excessive frustration she nearly shouted, "I've already told you! I'm going with someone else!" Then she left before she could make a fool of herself even more in front of the entire common room, who undoubtedly, were eavesdropping to the best of their abilities. She also knew that the information that she was going with Viktor Krum, who she had angrily complained about when the Durmstrang students had arrived and everyone was making a fool of themselves to catch a glimpse of them, would be hard to explain. Once insulted, she knew Ron wouldn't recover easily. She couldn't imagine anything but it being a blow to Ron that she was attending with Viktor Krum, who he had still yet managed to approach for an autograph. But right now, she was too angry to really care. To tell him now or to tell him at all, she didn't want to put up with it. Instead she stormed off to the girl's dorms where she thought about the differences between boys and men. It didn't help that she was older than most of the boys by a year to begin with and had help from the time-turner in her third year to add on a few more months to that.

It didn't help at all that she felt truly isolated in moments like these.

It was claustrophobic being around the giggle monsters Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. She'd tried making friends with them first year, but it was obvious there would have to be large changes of her own to be made in order to be like _them. _She wasn't willing to compromise any part of her own self in order to do that. The other two girls in the dorm, Fay Dunbar and Rebecca Thompson, were best friends and inseparable. It seemed they trusted no one else, whereas Lavender and Parvati surrounded themselves with as many people as could put up with them. With no friends in her dorm, and unable to put up with the snide comments when they happened, Hermione found more pleasure being in the library when the other girls were in the room. Of course, she'd learned to put up with them, but listening to their chatter was too irksome to be worth fighting over. She knew a lost cause when she saw it.

Sometimes the only option she'd had for awhile was hanging around Ron and Harry. It wasn't a bad thing and they often had a good time, but it was times like these that she just couldn't stand to be around them much. When Ron was being particularly stupid and Harry indifferent or wrapped up in his own worries (which she never blamed him for- how could she?), she had but a few people left to turn to. Ginny was becoming a better friend than the previous years had offered her, but their schedules were so different there wasn't very much time except for the end of the day to become truly immersed and strike up a conversation. Ginny also had her own life and her own friends, being somewhat of a popular girl among the third years. Neville, well, he was Neville. He wasn't opinionated enough or at least didn't voice his thoughts often enough to really keep Hermione going.

Sometimes she wondered, as she sat petting the big furball that was Crookshanks, who had come sniffing up to her knowing when his mistress was in a bad mood, if she _was _more mature than most of the people she was around. It was easier discussing important topics with older students, easy to understand their workload with very little emphasis, and even easier to get good advice from Professor McGonagall or other Professors, minus a few certain ones (like Professor Snape).

Was it really so apparent to someone who barely knew her? Did she look lonely and isolated from her peers to someone who had only been around her for several weeks?

It made the fact that Viktor Krum had asked _her _to go to the dance with _him_ even more unbelievable. Maybe he really was taking pity on her after all.

* * *

By Saturday morning Hermione had forgotten mostly about her and Ron's argument for the time being, instead, her mind preoccupied with how thankful she was that Harry, Ron, and most of the school at large were not morning people. Most people completely ignored the library so early in the day. Most people avoiding it like the plague on weekends - even more so on holiday breaks. Safe to say, the only person nestled in the library at their usual perch was Madam Pince. Even _she_ was off-guard, drinking a cup of cocoa at her desk inside the library. Outside the doors, Hermione waited anxiously, trying not to clank the few glass jars she kept in her school robes for the day ahead.

The entire school was in upheaval with the dance looming ever closer on the horizon. It was just a week or so away.

When Viktor arrived a few minutes before ten, Hermione was more concerned with sneaking them away from the library and up the grand staircase without anyone noticing to notice anything herself.

He tried to speak but Hermione shushed him with a motion of her hand. It didn't take very long to get to their destination, it was down a few long corridors, each turn offering a more silent nook to hide away in. When they reached a door that looked a lot like the many others they had passed at the end of a corridor, Hermione opened the lock with an old key and pocketed it, immediately wishing she'd worn a warmer shirt. The cold in the empty classroom was going to be worse than she'd anticipated.

They were standing in a classroom unused by the students and professors. There were no tables or chairs, which also meant there was no reason to light any torches or a fire to keep the room habitable. Hermione went to casting one of her most used spells, maybe the first she'd ever taught herself, and directed blue fire into the multiple jars she pulled from her pockets. She didn't take off her school robes even when the jars were placed around the room for heat and light.

Most of the windows had been magicked tight and shut, but Hermione had come in on Thursday during lunch to remove the dusty curtains and scourify the windows a bit so light could shine through the dirt and grime. She'd done a good job, she thought, looking critically at the windows that were a mixture of translucent clear diamond panes amidst a few colored stained glass designs.

Viktor had seemed content to let her work in silence, apparently waiting for the signal that it was okay to speak. Hermione turned to him, blowing air into her chilled hands to warm them up. She was too nervous to take off her robes and instead apologized if she had seemed rude. "I didn't want anyone to cause a scene, but in the end there was no one around anyways." She explained.

Viktor, now assured it was safe, replied looking around, "Vhere did you find this room? You had the key?" An entire week of very little correspondence had left him waiting very impatiently for today. Hermione looked at him, who was standing there completely void of the shivers. He was standing there like he was on the beach in the middle of August.

"I told one of the prefects about needing a quiet place to study. I had to convince him that the library wouldn't be quiet enough, what with everyone staying for the holidays and the general excitement, he finally let me borrow the key for this place." Of course, if they hadn't let her borrow the key she would have gotten in regardless, but she hadn't found it very difficult to persuade him into lending her the room. It wasn't very glamorous, but it would do. It was practical and that's all that mattered.

Light from the Bluebell Flames twinkled around the room, hitting parts of the walls that were dark enough in shadow to catch the light. Hermione now noticed Viktor's attire as he stepped towards her. He was wearing simple blue jeans and a dark colored t-shirt. On the shirt was a symbol Hermione couldn't make out but associated subconsciously with a Quiddich brand.

For the first time realizing his height as he approached her, and realizing all too quickly that in a moment she would really understand how much taller he was than her, she turned around and pulled out a small black circle from the inside of her robes, spent longer than she really had to engorging the disc, levitating the record and her wand, and setting the wand's tip on the record to act much like a pin. The music started playing a serenade of violins and orchestral music. She'd asked McGonagall after the Transfiguration exam what kind of dance it was going to be. "A waltz." McGonagall had replied with a slight smile tugging at her lips.

At the time she wondered how Harry was going to learn the dance, then she supposed they would have a short session of dancing given just before the ball. But Hermione, unsure about her ability with dancing, didn't want to go before the entire school, two international schools, and end up being horrible. She owed it to herself and Viktor to learn the dance well. She figured, like Quiddich, you couldn't truly learn it from a book, despite her best efforts to.

With the music playing faintly behind Hermione she turned somewhat awkwardly towards Viktor.

"Should we begin then?" She asked, completely unsure how it came out so different than how she felt. Guess it was the perks of being a Gryffindor.

"You vill dance vith your robes on?"

"No." She replied, shaking off the school robes reluctantly, dressed in a white shirt her mother had gotten her in France and a regular pair of jeans. The shirt up to the neck was opaque, but the sleeves, translucent, didn't hide that fact that goosebumps traveled up her arm as soon as the robes came off. She shivered visibly and closed her eyes. Was it really so cold in here that she could see her breath? She wondered if they could light a fire in the old fireplace.

Viktor, really attributing his next actions to the impatience, had strode over to Hermione and picked up her small hand in one of his, put her other hand on his shoulder, and settled his hand on her waist in a smooth quick motion. Hermione's eyes opened at the contact abruptly, clearly startled, but the fire spreading through her face and limbs rectified the cold situation at once.

Still, Viktor said, "You really do not do vell with the cold. Your hands are like ice."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but Viktor shook his head. "Ve vill have to start at some point. Today I vill teach."

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it again, then hated herself for it. She really was beginning to act like an air-headed girl. She only managed to blurt out, "You taught me last time, too."

Viktor looked like he needed elaboration.

"About the ship." She rectified.

"Yes, but this is something I _really_ know about."

Hermione was doing better, instead blurting out a, "How?" with less gaping-like-a-fish-out-of-water syndrome. She hadn't really expected Viktor to know how to dance. In fact, reflecting after she'd asked him over the week, she'd just assumed they would both be clueless and have to go to the library and find a book on waltzes.

"I vill explain vhile we dance." He said, his own nervousness mounting with the two of them standing still together so close. "The best way to learn is to not even think about it."

That statement was against everything Hermione knew about learning. But they were already starting before she could retort.

So he moved her backwards and forwards, slowly, to the side and around. There was a part of the dance where the girl was supposed to twirl. Hermione didn't know when to do it. He had to tell her to twirl. She listened obediently, then slowly and reluctantly did so. Her face was scrunched up trying to remember the pattern.

"Do not try to memorize." He told her, catching onto her silence.

"Sorry." she replied.

She was trying desperately to not step on his feet, and at first her feet would come very close to it, their feet touching together abruptly. She was moving about nervously, trying to dance the way she thought it should be done and somewhat fighting his movements along the way.

"Your body vill know the dance before you do. I vill also vill be fine."

"Ok." She replied, still looking down at their feet.

"Look up."

Hermione did instantly. Anyone who knew Hermione Granger and were looking at her this very moment wouldn't think it was her, but an identical twin. She often, to her own peers, gave orders. She didn't take them. But with teachers it was different.

Hermione had stopped trying to memorize the dance and instead listened to Viktor, afraid he would chastise her again. She didn't want to be an ungrateful student.

"Vhen I vas small my mother taught me to dance. In Bulgaria, my father vas a business man and had many parties at the house for his vork. My family is also very fond of dancing. Twirl. Vhen we have reunions ve vill dance. It is very rare, but sometimes there vill be reasons to go to balls for Quiddich. It is formal and no doubt politics, but there is dancing as vell. It is no secret that I am clumsy valker, but I can dance. I can also fly on broomstick, but that is natural. My body knows how to do these things because I do them often."

He spoke continually because he knew that her mind would wander if he didn't. He also preferred her attention.

Hermione was finally able to reply since she wasn't trying to commit each step to memory. "It seems like for some people flying on a broomstick is easy for them. My friend Harry,"

At this Viktor's mouth formed a thin line and Hermione didn't notice that he had tightened his grip on her hand.

"Twirl." He said interrupting. Hermione, unprepared, lost track in what she was saying and spun in the spot, more easily moving back into the dance than she had done before.

"You are getting better." He said, further distracting her.

A small smile appeared on her face and she didn't reply. Going back to the original topic, taking a minute to reclaim the topic in her head, she continued, "In first year I couldn't even get the broom to jump up off the ground. I had to pick it up. I can count on my hand the number of times I've rode on a broom." With a small ironic smile, she suggested, "You might have to get a new dance partner." Implying that a famous Quiddich player like Viktor Krum couldn't be with a partner who couldn't even command a broomstick. Even _Neville_ could get a broomstick to jump off the ground. She didn't tell Viktor that she _still_ couldn't get a broomstick to jump up. When would he ever find out?

Unsure if she was serious or not, he only replied, "It is too late now for that. It took me more than a month to talk to you then another week to ask you to go to the dance. There is not enough time for another partner. You vill have to go with me."

For some reason the statement didn't embarrass Hermione as much as it got a chuckle. She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing harder, pretty sure the nervous energy from being so close to Viktor's body was finally rolling through her and escaping a bit. In her joviality she quietly noted that Viktor himself was not as stiff as he usually was. On the Durmstrang ship he had seemed hesitant and guarded. Now he seemed very upfront and unafraid. Each time she spoke to him he was slightly different. She wondered what his true personality was like.

They danced for awhile in silence, Hermione falling prey to her thoughts. She gazed outside the windows, finding the morning sun rising higher into the sky and offering a pretty view of the snow-covered grounds outside. Abruptly she noticed the smooth movements of the two of them dancing across the floor moving in sync together across.

"I... think I've actually gotten the hang of it." She said, knowing when the time to twirl was before he could say it. He looked at her astonished but pleased face. It hadn't taken a very long time at all. She had thought they would be practicing the better part of the day, with more explanations, maybe some diagrams, and a few step-by-step instructions.

"You look like you did not think that vould vork."

She wanted to say, 'I didn't." But _didn't_ want to question his teaching methods either when they had obviously worked quite well.

It seemed he could tell what she was thinking from the moment of silence and instead replied, as if she had said it aloud, "That is the beginning of the dance. Ve probably vill not need to know more than that. Do you vant to know the rest?"

Hermione, unable to say no to that request, agreed quickly enough. She didn't know when she would ever need to know the full length of a waltz, but she also knew it couldn't hurt to learn.

So they went through the paces of the dance that Hermione now knew. She wasn't infallible or perfect, but she was comfortable with it now. It had seemed easier when she hadn't been focusing on it though. The entire time they'd been dancing they'd moved in a large circle about the room, slowly and deliberately. Even more slowly, delving into the next bit, Viktor said again, "I vill lead." He didn't sink into distracting her now, unable himself to speak on another topic when the rest of the dance was a bit more complicated. There was no other way but to give her directions when needed. "Step back again. Again."

Just then the music stopped. It was something she feared in the back of her head to happen and didn't want to be dancing without it. "I'll get it." She said while Viktor was moving back and she was turning. She ended up turning around being pulled forward, and to compensate, she pulled back and her foot fell over the other. In a very ungraceful moment she grabbed onto Viktor to save her from the fall, and Viktor _could_ have held her up, had he been a more graceful person himself. Instead he lost his balance and they tumbled down to the ground together into a heap on the uneven flags of the floor.

Hermione, immediately after falling, gave out a sharp, "Oww!" and Viktor's face had fallen into the space between the crook of her neck and shoulder. His nose had hit the floor. He cursed in Bulgarian and muttered quietly, "I can be clumsy dancer, too." The murmur of his explanation, even with Hermione in pain, had her aware of his breath in her ear, the soft-spoken words flowing loudly in, and an involuntary shiver coursing through her accompanied with the throbbing of her head that had hit the floor. Becoming more aware while the pain in her head ebbed and flowed, Viktor's heavy body on top of her was unmistakeably rigid, the body lifting up off her to allowing her to breath had been an unmistakeable assortment of defined muscles from his stomach and chest unimaginably firm through his shirt and hers while they were pressed together. Even with him off her now it was hard to breath, but she managed to reply breathlessly, "No, it's was my fault."

'_It's_ was my fault!?' She thought, horror at her own grammar.

It was hard not to notice it when he pulled up, feeling her shiver after he spoke. The side of his cheek rubbed against the bare skin of her neck and he paused, unaccountably frozen in the spot and a lot of feelings running though him. He hoped his stubble didn't scratch against her unpleasantly, but the smoothness of her neck and face was alarming. There was a long moment of panic in his brain as he was there hunced over her. His breathing was harder, his eyes shut tight, and Hermione asked, "Are you hurt?", pain inflected in her own voice, before his decision was made for him. For a moment there he had repeated to himself in his mind, _Protect me from what I want._

"Your nose is bleeding."

Viktor, instead of standing up, sat back onto the floor and touched his nose. It was bleeding but not heavily. He couldn't tell if he had hit his nose too hard or if the blood was rushing to his nose for other reasons.

Hermione sat up too, crossing her legs Indian-style and grabbing the back of her head. To avoid looking at Viktor and giving him a look he couldn't decipher, and she didn't want her expression to articulate either, she closed her eyes and felt the throbbing pain intensify.

"Did you hurt your head? I vill check." He said, standing up and crossing over to her to kneel behind her. He grabbed her hair into his hand and pushed it aside, checking for blood. She held her hair to the side for him, their hands brushing, and when he touched the tender spot that was painful she hissed. "It's not that bad." She said.

She turned her head back to look at him, her eyes making contact with the broomstick and snitch logo on the front of his shirt. He spotted her looking up at him, tears in the corner of her eyes and her face red, a small vein near her eye visible and protruding. She looked purely miserable yet vulnerable. She also looked extremely uncomfortable and red. He pushed her cheek with the back of his hand to correct her gaze from being too observant of him, and told her, "Keep your head straight. I do not see any blood. You vill not have concussion."

Hermione made to stand up and Viktor turned around, busying himself with the record.

There was a very intense silence while Hermione watched Viktor stand with his back to her, seeing the muscles in his back move under his shirt.

Hermione held her hands together in front of her, eyes suddenly clenching from the throbbing in her head.

Viktor was working against very strong inner turmoil, every thought slinking into a direction he didn't want it to be going at the moment. He thought about the abandoned classroom, Hermione's slender and smooth neck, and her height to his body. She came up to just under his collar bone. If she stood in front of him he could engulf her in size. Her hair had been thick and soft in his hands. It had felt very good to hold.

_Calm down, Viktor. Calm down._ He told himself, then turned, picking up the record and her wand from the air in front of him. He shrunk the record with her wand, turning reluctantly to her.

"Ve should take break."

Handing her the record and her wand, her face lit up as she received them. "Let's get lunch. I have something I can show you." She said somewhat excitedly. With a swish of her wand the blue lights left the glass jars they flickered in. They stopped at a washroom so Viktor could clean the blood from his face. In the washroom he cupped cold water into his hands and splashed it onto his face with a sigh, looking up into the mirror at his reflection.

He felt better now, but he'd need more time away from the empty classroom.

While Viktor was in the washroom she was pushing herself to not recall the sensation of Viktor's body moving against hers. The spot where his chest pressed against her was still warm and tingling.

Instead of heading in the direction of the Great Hall, Hermione lead him down a large winding staircase that seemed to go down for ages. Down a corridor they went, which Hermione had taken Ron and Harry down just a few nights ago. They stood in front of the huge hanging portrait of a bowl of fruit. Viktor looked quizzically at the painting then looked to Hermione.

Hermione simply said, "Tickle the pear."

"Vhat?" Viktor replied, making no movement to do any such thing.

"The pear." She pointed at the pear to the far left of the painting, an amused grin now plastered on her face.

"Do I have to?" he asked, then before she could reply he stepped forward and poked at the pear. "I feel stupid." He said, then began to tickle the pear which started giggling and promptly turned into the handle for the door.

"That is interesting."

"Think so?" She said. "I wanted to show you some of the castle since you showed me the ship." She turned to him and said in a very straightforward tone, "I know you weren't supposed to, but you did anyway." Before he could reply she opened the door and a replica of the Great Hall was bared open before him, dozens of house elves scurrying around doing last minute seconds, thirds, and fourths for the students and teachers above at a late lunch.

They walked in and Hermione closed the portrait behind them. "I just recently found this place. I've only been here a few times..." She trailed off when a busy-looking house elf came over wiping her hands off on her apron. "What can I get ye mister n' miss?" She asked, eying Hermione warily.

All the house elves were learning who she was. Most looked at her as a hellion and a rebellious sort, trying to confuse the steady and complacent minds of her fellow workers in the kitchens below the Great Hall. With Dobby, Winky, and now this girl, it was obvious when it rained it poured. But nevertheless, Miftsy sniffed politely and proudly did her job for whoever walked into the kitchens.

"Actually," Hermione said, to Miftsy's great pleasure, "I'm wondering if there is any way that we could get food to take off to another part of the castle? Maybe a plate of sandwiches. Something simple?"

Miftsy shook her head. "No miss. We can do better than that. What kind of things wouldche' like to be eating miss?"

Hermione turned to Viktor for input. "I do not care." He shrugged. "I am hungry. I vill eat anything."

Miftsy noted the accent on him, already knowing that Frick would know what kind of food the Bulgarian bunch would want. She then took a look at the girl. She was still a growing girl, not filled out yet in all the right places. Her face was pale but a small bead of sweat was glistening on her forehead. Miftsy tutted to herself. The girl was cold and sick, probably. "Donche' worry, then, miss. I know whatche' be needing." She scuttled over to a counter of extra plates, goblets, and silverware and all manner of things for eating on and in. She grabbed the golden dinnerware, stacking several plates, two goblets, forks, spoons, knifes, teapot, tea cups and a few little bowls into a large bunch. Hermione stooped down very quickly to help. Miftsy took offense, very well able to take care of it, thank you very much.

The scraggly girl took the plates and the Bulgarian boy took the goblets, tea kettle, and silver wear from the stack. 'Such a nice master' she thought and smiled warmly. "Well donche' just stand there now." She waved her hands at them. "Your food will be ready in a few minutes. Tea will be sent right up. Just sit the lot wherever you please. We'll find it all." She eyed Hermione hard.

"Donche' be bringing it back yourself, either."

Hermione looked down to the ground, instinctively wanting to reply back, but thought better of it considering her company. If she was going to upset the house elves she would do it on her own time when Dobby was around. She still had yet to figure out if it was more effective with Dobby there or not. The house elves treated Dobby like a form of bacteria to be avoided. But she knew he wasn't there. If he had been there, he would have come to see "Harry Potter's good lady friend!" She didn't need to look around to know he wasn't there today. The kitchens were too quiet. Even the wailing of Winky's heart-wrenching sobs were not to be heard.

She asked, "Is Winky feeling better?"

Miftsy huffed, eager to return to her work. "Like that'll happen. No dear, she's off with Dobby." A few house elves looked fretted at hearing this. Miftsy, made of stronger stuff than that, only rolled her eyes. "A lot more quiet when she's not around. The two of 'em are a right sort of trouble they are. But I ain't gettin' work done talking 'bout them. Enjoyye' food missus... Young master." She curtsied prettily to them and walked off to give the order to Frick.

Hermione's jaw clenched as she bit her tongue.

They'd "borrowed" a large wooden table and two chairs from a room they thought wouldn't miss them and put them in the empty classroom. The jars didn't need to be re-lit. The sun filtering in through the windows made the room warm. When they'd put the plates and the rest down on the table the tea kettle filled right up and was instantly steaming from the spout. Milk and sugar filled up in their appropriate bowls. Hermione was quietly dropping spoonfuls of sugar into her tea, trying to clear her mind, but unable to feel anything but guilt for the extra work she'd asked of the house elves in the kitchen.

Viktor looked at her then, noting the lack of spirit in her posture. He'd meant to say something about the dance but instead asked abruptly, "Do you hate Quiddich?"

Hermione, taken aback, looked up at him and shook her head "No. I was at the Quiddich World Cup. You probably don't remember seeing me there." She said, taking a sip of the tea.

Viktor, surprised at this information, took a moment to reply. "You vere there?" The most acute feeling out of nowhere hit him square in the stomach just then. He'd never thought about it. He'd never thought that _she _would have been there at the game. She'd seen the match. She'd seen the crowds cheering his name and the loss to the Irish. He hadn't anticipated it. Knowing this, he immediately was quiet and found it hard to speak anything more. He couldn't explain why this information had him locking up into his shell, sending him into a glower. He knew it was silly. If she hadn't been there she'd have seen it in the papers. But if she thought he was 'Just a Quiddich player.' then she _had_ something of an account to base it from.

When she said, "I was in the top box. We saw both teams up close." Viktor dropped his spoon and his arms crossed over each other on the table. There was a very long silence where Hermione studied him. She noted his refusal to look up. He was looking pointedly at the table. She was confused by his reaction, but he took his moment.

Finally he asked, "Vhat team did you root for?"

"The Irish one..." That ironic smile crossed her face again, but she said quickly,"But we were all rooting for you. I can't even remember the Irish team's name." She said truthfully, watching his face continue it's very stone-like existence. She wanted to tell him that she'd thought he'd been really brave.

His mouth twitched downwards. He said sourly, "You saw me get hit in the face by a bludger."

Hermione laughed but ended it quickly to spare his feelings. At least, she tried to. "I couldn't see it _that_ close. I think _everyone_ saw you get hit in the face with a bludger. Well, except for the referee." There was a very long moment of silence now. She had to summon up her own version of courage to say, "I thought you were rather brave, actually." and after saying it felt like one of his star-struck fans ogling over his flying skills, but that wasn't it. She _had_ thought him brave before she knew him, but she'd thought the famous _Krum _had been brave. "You did your... _Wonky Faint_ thing... I think the other seeker ended up a bit worse, don't you think?"

Vitkor's mouth twitched again, this time into a small smile. "Vonky Faint? You really do not know anything about Quiddich, do you?"

She shrugged, feeling very inept in the area, and was somewhat mortified that she _didn't_ know anything really about Quiddich except for a few dates and a small idea of a few broomstick games children played in the 1400th century. That's all she'd managed to get on that book she'd borrowed from the library.

She could only say, "Not really."

But Viktor didn't care. She'd said he'd been brave.

"My tactics are very thorough." He said very plainly.

"Thorough? You sound like the Mafia." She jibbed at him, unable to hold back anymore.

"Vhat is Mafia?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. Just then the food arrived on their plates. For him there was some kind of spiced meat, potatoes, vegetables, different pastries and danishes, and a cucumber-based salad with what seemed to have everything except lettuce.

"They know how to treat a guest!" Viktor exclaimed, now happy and unconcerned with a thing. "This is especially Bulgarian food. You must taste the banitsa." He looked at her plate and lost it, finding it hard to believe a moment ago he'd been sulking. His laughter rang out loudly and genuinely from his stomach. Hermione, who didn't seem at all pleased, and even very much offended, now had the turn to glower.

"Vhat did you do to them?"

"Tried to give them freedom." She muttered darkly.

To show for it, on her plate there was oatmeal, dried fruits, a few pieces of toast, and a goblet full of orange juice. Chicken soup filled a bowl to the side.

"You vill eat some of my banitsa and sirenka then."

Hermione picked up her fork and shoveled it into the oatmeal. Viktor couldn't help laughing as he shoved her plate away chuckling. "No, no. Ve vill share." He pushed his plate into the middle and chuckled some more unable to stop as he put the fork in his mouth. "That is good." He said after he swallowed. "Eat!" He said. "Vhy are you moping?"

"The house elves hate me." She poked her fork at the food dejectedly.

"No. The house elves think you are ill. They have given you foods to make you strong. They give me the same foods at home vhen I am sick."

Feeling slightly better at the first half of what he said, she had something new to worry about with the second. "You have house elves?"

"Yes. Vell," he rephrased, "Our family has house elves in the family for generations. They are not mine, exactly."

Hermione stuck her fork into some of the spiced meat, trying not to be distracted from the delicious sensation the food made as it danced deliciously in her mouth. She didn't want to be distracted from her objective. To pry or not to pry? Hermione squared her shoulders and made a quick decision. She felt strongly about it. Hell, she knitted scarves, socks, and tiny hats for them before she went to bed most nights.

"What do they do?" She asked.

"They vork in the kitchens and clean the house." He replied, cutting into the pastried cheese danish on his plate.

"Do they get vacations?"

"Vhat?" He asked.

"Days off? Like weekends?" Hermione sighed then shook her head, going out on a limb. "Look. This is going to make me sound crazy."

"I cannot vait." Viktor replied.

Hermione fought a smile, saying, "No, I'm serious."

"I am listening."

"When we were at the Quiddich World Cup, Winky was told by her master, Mr. Crouch of the Ministry to stay in the tent no matter what _while_ a group of insane Pureblood supporters levitated a Muggle family over their heads and trampled through the place. It was in the papers."

Viktor turned serious again, asking, "You vere not hurt vere you?" knowing full well what had happened after the Quiddich match but hadn't thought to associate to her in that way. She was muggle-born, after all.

"No." she replied, continuing, "Winky very well could have gotten hurt, even killed, though. House elves are not human, but they are creatures, like goblins, trolls... even _animals _have feelings and a good owner will treat them well. They all have _feelings_. To make a long story short, Winky was discharged from her master's care because she wanted to save her own life. Mr. Crouch called her 'elf' the entire time he talked to her. Her ancestors, presumably, gave their lives up to work for his family for generations, yet he doesn't even have the decency to call her by her name. Is it right for anyone to think of _freedom_ as a disgrace?" Hermione shook her head, food forgotten. She didn't have an appetite for it anyway now. This was the rant that Harry, Ron, and the rest of her school didn't have time to listen to.

"It's slavery, and people make the excuse that the house elves like it. Doesn't that sound like they were conditioned to 'like' it? If they truly will obey their masters above all, then why would Winky run from the tent when her master told her not to? She's a living creature with thoughts, feelings, and emotions of her own. Even a cat likes to sleep all day. A dog likes to play. Is it really okay that we submit these creatures to work, and expect them to like it? To cook, clean, and _die _for us?"

Viktor had never thought of it that way. Hermione was looking at his face hesitantly, as if she was afraid she would push him away with her opinions, but at the same time she refused to take any of it back and waited quietly for a reply.

He carefully formed one. Then he could think of nothing better than, "That is vhy we have people like you. The rest of us vould not think about any of this. Ve are too selfish."

In a moment of doubt, Hermione asked, "It's stupid, isn't it? Even the Muggle-borns I've talked to don't care about it. I thought they would be the ones to understand the most. But it doesn't take long for people to think 'That's just the way it is.'"

"I thought things like that... vhen I tried to get onto the International team I did not think it vould happen. I vas too young, it vas unlikely to happen."

"And now you're out there trying to kill the other seeker at the Quiddich World Cup." She said, a twinkle in her eye.

"I am doing vhat I love. But vhat vill you do to achieve vhat you vant?"

Hermione said, "I will get you to become a member of S.P.E.W. The Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare. Whenever it's convient for you, please pay 2 sickles for the membership fee. It's really to cover the cost of the badges."

Viktor laughed again. "Ok. I vill join. Then this summer vhen I go home I vill start some changes at home. It vill be a large job. I vill have to break them of their desire to work so hard... Maybe ve vill have forced outings to the beach. They vill not like it at first. Ve vill vork hard to break them of their stubbornness." He was chuckling the entire time, still eating at his plate. Hermione, instead of offended, brightened up, the widest smile crossing her face that he could imagine.

"Really? You really mean that?"

"Really." He said, looking at her in the face, then looking back down to his plate quickly. "Now that ve have had serious discussions, ve cannot not waste the hard vork of the elves downstairs. They vill be unhappy if ve don't finish this delicious food. It is our first task at hand to eat and enjoy. You must try the banista."


	5. A Faint Inkling

Author's note: So this chapter was more than mildly painful. It wasn't writer's block. It was several constant attempts to quell what I call 'verbal diarrhea'. Basically, I ended up writing out an okay portion of the chapter, then, when I went to open it on my computer, it told me the file was invalid. I hadn't liked what I'd written so I went to writing something else. Then I didn't like _that_, so I wrote something similar. Then I merged all _that_ together and finally just threw my hands into the air, wrote out portions of what I remembered from the file that had been invalid, and changed the word processor I was using.

This chapter might remain in my mind as the chapter that I look at in accusation. When I imagine chapters in my head, my brain is so jumbled up for the Yule Ball scene, and I know a lot of people already have a very particular vision of it in their own heads. I get very specific about what I want to articulate. Either way, it'd taken me far too long, and my goal was/is to quicken the time it takes me to post chapters. I draw some, too, so between trying to get pictures done for people and then drawing Viktor/Hermione pictures to sate my little inner desires, I hope this can appease all of you. Safe to say though, from here on out it should be a lot easier on me. I've been brainstorming the plot and got help from my boyfriend (who despises Harry Potter yet listens to me talk about my story and plays LEGO Harry Potter with me twice a day). He actually fixed one of the plot problems I'd been having trouble with. It's useful having a boy around to make my male characters more masculine.

If anyone reads my little author rambles up here, can anyone answer a question for me? I had some, GASP, _hanky panky_ planned out for this story. If it's generally not too horrible and explicit. Can it be posted here? I saw some writing that was REALLY specific and I had no idea we could post things like that. If anyone has any information feel free to inform me on the reviews or send me a PM.

Once again, thanks so much everyone for being so patient, kind, and encouraging. I love the reviews and every single one makes me smile. I need to learn how to reply to them!

The next chapter will be coming out very shortly as I already have it half-complete. It was actually part of _this_ chapter but if I had kept on I'd have ended up near 25,000 words. So expect it soon!

* * *

It was Christmas, but it might as well have been renamed "Yule Ball' day, because that's all anyone would talk about. Presents in the morning, feasting at each meal, and "Merry Christmas"es were the only indicators that it was in fact Christmas and not just a very loud, frantic, and chilling-to-the-bone day. The clouds in the sky covered all blue and were heavy and gray in the far distance. Everyone was sure it would snow again by the time the Yule Ball was underway, and this was preferable, because it would mark this Christmas as being the most perfect... at least, that's what people were hoping for.

Hermione first stirred when Parvati's loud groan had caught her attention. Parvati, rolling over and kicking a present off the edge of the bed, began to snore loudly, mouth open, into her pillow.

Her groan had been provoked in sleepy irritation by a noise Hermione was now aware of and couldn't disregard. It was in the form of persistent scratching and general upheaval at the foot of Hermione's bed. She crawled over on her hands and knees over the bed, unprepared for the freezing stone floor on her bare feet. She peered over the edge of her presents.

Hermione watched as a large, rounded orange and fluffy bottom was shaking to and fro, lashing a bottle-brush tail straight up into the air. Crookshanks was half-submerged in a rather large basket made of bent branches and sticks. Hermione recognized the basket at once, as she often saw them hanging on the side of Hagrid's hut. He filled it to the brim each year with enough candy to give both her parent's mild panic attacks should they have seen it. Hermione wasn't used to abundances of real, non sugar-free snacks and knew right away she would have to omit a description of Hagrid's present in her letter to her parents. A small price to pay.

Hermione lifted Crookshanks out of the basket by his heavy bottom and fished inside herself. Feeling for something soft and navigating around plastic wrappers of what was unmistakably Cauldron Cakes shaped into Christmas trees, she pulled out a soft plush figure of what looked to be a deformed mouse. It wasn't very pretty, but it didn't have to be. Crookshanks was going to tear off the little button eyes and ravage the little dear regardless. Crookshanks did not care, and allowed Hagrid his "artistic licence." It was fake, of course, and filled with a very potent brand of catnip Hagrid picked in the Forbidden Forest and dried just for Crookshank's pleasure. Hagrid had done the same the year before, which prepared Hermione for the next several days ahead of her. Hermione only hoped that she wouldn't come back to her part of the dorm in tatters, sheets thrown off the bed, pillows ransacked, and Crookshanks curled up in the sleeve of one of her larger sweaters with an expression of pure cosmic joy on his face. That's what happened last year when Crookshanks had gotten his early Christmas present.

Hermione's Christmas present to Crookshanks, other than fresh cream and some kippers, would be to give him all the patience and forgiveness she had in her heart to not pluck him up by his fat belly and toss him into the common room to rid their dorm of an unstoppable menace.

As soon as Hermione handed Crookshanks the mouse he took it into his mouth and snuck under the bed with it into the darkness. Immediately, a loud purring was abound. She put all the littered treats back where they belonged, and knew, as Lavender sat up in bed like a possessed being and ran over to Parvati's bed, shaking the girl awake in a near panic, knew: _So much for sleep._

But sleep had been elusive for her anyways. She'd tossed and turned half the night, read under the sheets, and tossed and turned some more.

There was an unsettled feeling in Hermione's stomach as she heard Lavender hiss, "I _did_ forget something, 'Vati! _Wake up, WAKE UP! I forgot the face cream. Ooooh~_ Lord, do you think they might let us go to Hogsmeade to get some?" Parvati, a heavy sleeper, did nothing but mumble. Lavender jumped from Parvati's bed then looked at Hermione in a sheer act of desperation, "Do you - _Never mind._" She shook her head, apparently regaining her senses, then launched her half-naked body onto Fay Dunbar's bed. "Fay, _FAY!_ Do you have any facial cream?"

Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then shivering violently, Hermione drew her blankets around herself before reaching toward the closest present. She tore at it slowly, and when it was open, stared down at it for a moment or two before recognizing what she was looking at.

It was a long pair of knitting needles. She found a note that had been stuffed underneath them. It simply said in very large and childish writing: From Dobby, Merry Christmas!

Hermione was touched. Fondness for Dobby surged, whose present, not only useful, but stood as a symbolic gesture for Hermione, strengthened her resolve to keep at it for the sake of all the house elves. She would knit something for Dobby. Maybe a shirt or some socks. Or maybe a hat with holes in the top for his ears to fit through. She liked that idea. It would get rid of that filthy tea cosy he wore.

She wondered if the knitting needles were anything like Mrs. Weasley's pair that could continue the same stitch until directed to stop, moving in the air like two independent dancers, a thing that Hermione had often thought of when she worked, stitch by stitch, staying up as late as she dare work on the many hats, socks, and tiny scarves she hid about the common room.

Straying to the next present, she was surprised, as she noted it was from Harry. She still had the omnioculars he'd gotten her and Ron at the Quiddich World cup tucked into her trunk at the foot of the bed. She'd taken him seriously, and although thought knew it was more probable she might get another present from him within the next ten years, didn't think he'd feel obligated to get her one _this_ Christmas. There were a few Chocolate frogs. There was even a bottle of Even Longer Lasting black ink that was guaranteed to 'make use of every drop to the fullest extent'. On the back of the bottle it boasted that 'no more quill leaks' and 'no more blotches on parchment'. You 'could hold the bottle upside down with the cork pulled out if you wanted to'. The ink refused to get on anything but paper. At least, that's what it advertised. Hermione wasn't willing to try it out on top of her bed, but was happy all the same.

From Ron, there was the usual assortment of bookmarks. She was impressed. So far, he hadn't replicated any in the three years she'd received Christmas presents from him. Hermione couldn't blame him for his lack of originality. At least he got her something she used often enough, although there were many times Hermione read a book all the way through in one long session and didn't need one.

Hermione gathered up the bookmarks and piled them with the others into the nightstand by her bed. The drawer's entire bottom was covered with so many different ones, seeing the bottom of the drawer was now a thing of the past. Some of the bookmarks would cry out at you if neglected in a book you hadn't read in awhile. Some stretched automatically to fit the length of the book. One even laid underneath each sentence so you could focus on just that line, which really didn't move quick enough for Hermione's tastes. One changed color each time it reached the next chapter. Some duplicated and clung to important pages, like organizational tabs. A few were rather pretty, and Hermione used them in special books, being very particular with them. One of the pretty ones played soothing music when you were reading. Her most used bookmark was a red one that lit up in the dark. Then there were the regular ones she just shoved into pages and forgot about until she came up on them again.

From Fred and George there was a prettily packaged box of "normal" Canary Cremes. In their card they promised that these had no strange side effects and were largely considered to be "very safe". There was also a festive flavor they'd put together just for a "select few". It had a chocolate crumb crust and creamy orange center. Hermione looked at the present skeptically and supposed that she'd have to give it a serious thought before she put one of the little horrors up to her lips. At the very least, she'd have to try and decide whether to eat them in front of others just in case something unfortunate happened, or by herself... just in case something unfortunate happened.

From Ginny there was a beautiful Christmas card that seemed packed with much more effort than last year's. Hermione wondered if she was just getting very good with them, or if she had spent more time on it this year since Hermione and Ginny had gotten closer over the summer. On the front was a drawn Christmas tree whose lights and bulbs twinkled, moved, and glittered. Inside there was a moving scene of children playing in the snow before a cozy looking cottage whose windows glowed orange and moving figures walked between the curtains. The card actually warmed Hermione's hands and face as she opened it, listening to a slow playing jingle, and Hermione sat there for several minutes basking in it's warmth before reaching for the last present.

It was a present Hermione knew well, as the box had been sitting in her possession since early December. She also knew exactly what it was since she'd asked for it specifically. On the front of the box there sat a small note, "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL X-MAS! -Love Mom and Dad".

When Hermione opened the box, there was a lot of tissue paper covering the dress, and on top rested an envelope. It was from her mother, whose short letter surprised Hermione, as her mother almost always reached a minimum of three pages.

_Merry Christmas Sweetheart!_

_Don't listen to your father when you talk to him next, he's going to tell you that this dress cost him an arm and a leg! It __was__ expensive, but __he__ was the one who insisted we get it! I must confess, dear, that the main reason I didn't want you to go to Hogwarts, which was pure selfishness on my part, was because I didn't think they'd have any dances! I was always a little put out that we'd never get to go shopping for your prom dress. Now, even without you, dear, I think we chose the perfect dress for you. And I was happy to get some extra things for your little friend, Ginny, since your father chose yours. I got a few things myself, because, as I'm happy to write, your father and I decided to go back to France for our Christmas holiday. Even now, as you read this, we're off making due, so don't feel too badly for us! _

_More importantly, your father actually conceded to lend you his camera, at very little suggestion from me. I didn't even think it was remotely possible and you know how he feels about that thing. Take care of it! I don't need to tell you, but you know how he'll be if he finds even a scratch on it. I don't think I could deal with listening to him on that account. _

_TAKE LOTS OF PICTURES IN YOUR DRESS! Can you get us some wizarding pictures, too? I know I won't be able to show anyone, but I have a separate album for all those sort. I want to see you and your date, since you evaded me on that subject last letter, so don't think you can sneak off with just a picture of yourself. I've told you once and I'll tell you again, I wouldn't mind if it was a boy or a girl, love. I understand what it's like to be fifteen! I think your father is down-right frightened to know that you're going to a dance with someone. Oh, it's so funny. I know he's very protective of his little girl, as am I, of course, but let's admit that you aren't getting younger! They don't have spells for that, do they?_

_Oh, and before I forget to say, get some of Ginny, and some of Harry and Ron if you think about it or have time to! I want to see how lovely she looks in her things. I hope they match her dress._

_I'll keep this letter short since I know you'll be itching to get on with it._

_Love you, sweetie. Dad says he loves you and misses you, too. I wish we could see you for Christmas, but we understand, and I want you to have the best night of your life! Say hi to the others for us._

_Remember: PICTURES!_

Hermione couldn't help but shake her head at her mother's rambling letter, expecting nothing less. She unwrapped the dress from inside the box. She caught a glimpse of the color, a gentle purply-periwinkle blue, and complete nervousness set in as she held aloft the thin material. The feeling that had held itself out late into the night long before she'd been able to finally fall asleep for an hour or two, came back in full force. The dress was of a floaty material that the slightest breeze could make flutter. It shimmered and caught the barest hint of light from the window by her bed, and there wasn't very much of it in the room just yet. The curtains were almost all the way drawn around her four-poster, so there were no nosy glances to witness the change of mood that had come over Hermione like a severe chill. She shivered and her teeth chattered, but Hermione didn't attribute it to the temperature in the room. That lead rock sensation had plummeted down into her stomach further, and swallowing hard, she tried not to listen Parvati, now awake, talking hurriedly with Lavender. It was the beginning of the relentless giggles Hermione knew would not stop.

Hermione stirred and pulled on socks that she hiked up to her knees. She slipped into her shoes next as an added precaution against the ruthless floor. Even with carpet under the bed the cold would sink through her toes. She crossed over to her trunk and pulled out her school skirt, tossed on a thick sweater in excessive speed so as to not feel the cold on her bare skin, then, with arms sneaking back out of the sleeves, Hermione sneakily maneuvered her bra on under the sweater before sticking her arms back in. After dragging a toothbrush across her teeth, she happily left the incessant talk about the Yule Ball in the dormitory with a book in hand. That hopeful wish was denied within minutes.

There was plenty of Christmas cheer by the fireplaces and in the sea of wrapping paper littered all over the floor, but once the presents had mostly been demolished, all talk led back to the same topic: Everything and anything pertaining to the Yule Ball. The girls spoke of it, their dresses, their plans, their laughter and hushed whispers continued. The first, second, and third years, having no reason to stay for a ball they couldn't attend, weren't to be found at Hogwarts, and were instead in their homes giving no thought or worries to the looming evening that Hermione knew was fast approaching now.

First the twins showed up in the common room, then Harry and Ron. As they were leaving to go down to breakfast, a flash of flaming red-hair assaulted Hermione's vision. Air was being squeezed out of her lungs while a very tight, crushing embrace was bestowed on her. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" She burst out. "It's perfect, Hermione! I had _no_ idea! I would have gotten you a better present if I had known - it must have been _so_ expensive..."

The Weasleys all looked at their young sister in amazement, unused to witnessing a squealing Ginny in what looked to be girlish raptures. Hermione couldn't see the extreme excitement on Ginny's face, but when Ginny asked, breathless, "Did you get it at Madam Malkins or Gladrags?" She saw Fred shake his head and speak in a mildly disgusted voice, "_Clothes_. It's all they'll talk about. Thank god it'll be over tonight."

"Let's get out of here." George suggested. "Before we get infected." It was unanimous. The boys turned to go down to the Great Hall while Hermione and Ginny trailed behind, walking more slowly and in that general direction.

"Mum got it, actually." Hermione said. "It's from a muggle shop. I just wrapped it up."

Hermione had seen Ginny's present before she'd wrapped it. She wanted to do at least that. Her mother had gotten Ginny low-heeled shoes and a beautiful wrap of translucent fabric to attach around her dress at the waist. Both were a pretty shade of green and the shoes were covered in shimmering designs in sequins.

"From a muggle shop? _Really_?" Ginny looked at Hermione in disbelief, then said, "I'll have to send your mum an owl. It matches perfectly. I didn't even know what color my dress was until this morning."

Hermione felt ill still listening to the talk, but in Ginny she found at least a little more comfort.

"It's pink." Ginny said, looking as if she didn't wholly approve of her mother's color choice. It was obvious that Ginny was rather pleased, though. "Mum must've slaved over it. She kept asking for my measurements, so I knew she was making me one. It wasn't exactly a secret really, but I had no idea she could sew things like that. It's a lot better than I expected. I really thought it was going to be something from Great Aunt Muriel's clothes trunk. Those clothes are _ghastly_." Ginny grinned. "Almost as bad as Ron's robes."

Hermione managed a small smile and chuckle for Ginny's benefit, but as they sat down to the table she lapsed back into silence.

Hermione couldn't stomach food. She'd tried. Breakfast had been plentiful for everyone else. There were a lot more choices than usual, but Hermione opted for something safe. She tried to take a bite of toast, but as she chewed on it a huge bout of nausea hit her fully. She tossed the toast back onto her plate and didn't pick it up again.

There were no cease in topics all day.

Ginny expressed her delight with her things being muggle-made, as she could put on a shimmering, glittering, or sparkle charm on the clothes without a hitch. Or even all three, but Ginny decided against that. "That's too much, isn't it?"

Hermione listened but didn't feel much like talking. If the conversation laxed or turned to something she didn't want to hear she buried her nose in a book. By the time Hermione's stomach was grumbling, and no one else's was, they wandered off to the Great Hall again and proceeded to stuff themselves full to the brim once more. This time it was lunch. Hermione tried to eat some turkey, but she took one bite and her stomach churned. She couldn't take another bite and guiltily left an entire plate of food go to waste.

Hermione excused herself early.

Ginny had been watching Hermione moments before. "What's wrong, 'mione?"

George and Fred, who were sitting across from her at the table, eyed her curiously as well, but George, the more observant of the two, grinned and said "You can eat, Hermione, you'll still fit into your dress at the end of the day, you know." He gave her a wink and she tried to put on a neutral expression from the grimace she was holding in. "I'm fine." She said, standing up from the table.

"_Fine_?" Fred asked in amusement. "Uh-oh. There's definitely something wrong, then."

"You sure?" George asked.

"Just a little tired, is all." She said. "I might go take a nap."

Ginny said, "That sounds like a good idea. I'll wake you up. We won't let you miss anything." She said with a supportive smile.

"Thanks. See ya."

George and Fred shared a look as Hermione turned away.

She went back to the common room, but instead of laying down she went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She leaned over and rested her head on her arms, attempting to breathe slowly and steadily. She stayed like that for several minutes. "_God, I feel like I'm going to throw up."_

She fought the feeling again a few hours later while Hermione and Ginny helped each other get ready. Her hands shook while she curled Ginny's hair with her wand, but Ginny thankfully didn't notice.

* * *

Hermione and Ginny branched off on the way to the entrance hall. Ginny waved to Hermione and went to join a few other thirds years who'd gotten to stay and join in the festivities. Ginny trotted down the stairs on the last great staircase as Hermione veered off to the side and held to the railing. With her vantage point at the top of the stairs she surveyed the dozens and dozens of people below her. It was a rainbow of colors. The girls in their dresses wore very wide smiles and chattered together. Hermione caught the murmur of rough accents from a group of male students off to a corner near the doors but couldn't spot Viktor among them. It occurred to her now, far too late, that it would have been a good idea to have arranged a meeting place ahead of time.

"Miss Granger, is that you?" came the familiar voice of Professor McGonagall, who, wearing a red tartan dress and a long pointed hat with a wreath around it, had just entered from the front doors and strode with purpose over to the bottom of the steps. Hermione descended the steps and McGonagall drew herself up, hands clasped in front of her, like a balloon swelling with air. There was a superior smile on her face. "Now _that's_ how I expect the partner of a Hogwarts' Champion to look." She said. "Very proper. I expected nothing less from you."

Hermione could now understand how Harry felt before a Quiddich match when McGonagall wished Harry luck.

"Thank you. You look very nice, too, Professor." And McGonagall waved her hand. "Viktor Krum is already in the photographer's tent. They'll be wanting couple's pictures for the _Daily Prophet._ Follow me."

Professor McGonagall took a steadying breath before leading Hermione out the front doors, where a beautiful garden of moving lights had been erected overnight. The sweet smell of tea roses and other varieties of blooming flowers hit her fully in the face. Hermione looked at the floating tiny lights in interest as they walked down a side path through the garden. Where the garden ended the full brunt of the cold finally settled on them. Hermione supposed they'd regulated the temperature, but hadn't thought to extent it to the photographer's shabby tent off to the side of the castle.

Hermione heard tinny voices of small far-away giggling. She wondered when she'd stop hearing people giggle. Weeks and weeks were punctuated with vast quantities of non-stop, ceaseless, unproductive giggling.

The giggling drew closer and Hermione realized that the tiny lights were pale-skinned fairies as large as the tip of her finger. It's wings glowed and shimmered and attributed to half the mass or more of their tiny bodies. One fairy, an impish grin on her face, sat on the tip of Hermione's nose as if it was a great large lounge chair. Hermione waved at it. Before Hermione entered the smallish blue tent the fairy pushed off with both her arms and sped off high into the air with a great push. She continued her small giggle and the fairies gathered together on the edge of the flap, peering inside curiosly. Or so Hermione could guess. She couldn't make out individual expressions.

McGonagall blasted the snow accumulated on the ground in front of the tent so Hermione could tread past without stepping into it.

The unmistakable airs of the Beauxbaton's Champion boomed loudly inside. "'Oo are not listening, you 'oorible little man. 'Oo think I 'oo not know which is my good side? Zis is it! "Oo take me a for a fool. I have more pictures taken of me than you have taken in your pitiful career. It is _my_ picture in ze paper, _I_ am to decide how I want it!"

Roger Davies was nodding engergetically repeating each sentence after her.

* * *

Viktor stood straighter. He couldn't believe that he hadn't recognized her. He'd heard someone ask in a rather constrained voice whether he was having fun or not, but not wishing to talk to anyone, he'd automatically turned his head away and cast his indifference on them. When he looked to the hole of the tent leading outside for Hermione, for the umpteenth time, he caught the profile of the girl who'd spoken, and staring at the outline of her face, thought she looked remarkably a lot like Hermione.

Then he realized it _was_ Hermione.

He'd been looking for her wild hair, then wondered why he'd think that she'd come in with her hair down at all. This was a dance. He'd done a double take to make sure it was really her, then, hesitantly asked "Is that you, Hermy-own?"

She turned to him with a bare neck so inviting that he no longer cared that she had tampered with her hair. He could see her face full on and there was no mistaking it now.

"You couldn't tell it was me?" She asked, surprise etched on her face. Then she looked rather self-conscious and he thought carefully before he replied. Questions like these, especially on occasions like tonight, were well-known traps. He treaded carefully.

"You look different... in a good vay." And it was true. He couldn't keep from looking at her. Her usually thick hair was pin-straight and twisted up into some kind of knot on the back of her head. He preferred her thicker locks, but he couldn't deny the view that it allowed him. Several wisps of hair were... _strategically_ placed around her face. That's the only conclusion he could make. He felt the urge to push them away because they had a dangerous habit of drawing his attention to the bottom of her jaw line, and that just made his eyes travel lower. Her collar bones were pronounced and dipped down in a curve to her the top of her dress. The dress ended in a V-shape around her breasts, _which_, he noted despite himself, were small but well-formed, and were large enough to cup in his hand. It unsettled him that she wasn't done developing yet, either. He shifted uncomfortably and dashed his eyes back up to her face. His cursory observations were done in an instant, and he thanked the heavens above that she hadn't seemed to have noticed his once-over. She seemed distracted. She was pointing over to a corner of the tent and said, "The photographer is calling for you."

He jumped slightly. He hadn't heard the photographer say a word. Then in a brood because of his hatred for getting his picture taken, and his irritation that many people would be making the same distinction he had made about how well Hermione looked, he stood in front of the camera and glowered at it.

Viktor half-wished she had not taken so much care to look as good as she did. The boys would be looking for the wrong reasons, the girls would be scrutinizing every inch, and they all would be turning their heads to look because she would be on Viktor _Krum's_ arm. It disgusted him, and he hoped people would leave them alone. He hoped that they could find a corner to sit away in. These thoughts led him to brood more openly than he would have liked.

The camera man's face, somewhat frightened, kept his mouth shut and moved around Viktor snapping photos with audible _poofs_! as the smoke popped from the camera. The man didn't want to chance another outburst, especially from a toughly built Bulgarian. The small man only spoke to the girl to call her over to stand beside Viktor. He directed her to the right side. He suggested she turn a little bit.

Viktor watched Hermione stand there nervously before clutching her hands together in front of her and smile. She looked wary, though. The camera man looked much worse for wear, however. He asked, "Can you put your arm around her shoulder?" not meeting Viktor's eyes.

Viktor did as instructed and grabbed Hermione's shoulder by cupping it on the upper arm. He was a little too heavy-handed. It tightened the gap when Hermione stumbled a bit and McGonagall gave a quick-tempered sigh of frustration. "_Really!" _She said. "He won't bite." Viktor couldn't tell if the old witch was saying that to Hermione or the camera man. The stern witch came over and pushed Viktor closer and angled him so he faced more inwards towards Hermione. She straightened a wisp of Hermione's hair and moved Viktor's free arm up so it bent at the elbow. After molding them, she stepped back, and pointing what looked to be a very odd looking camera up, said stoutly. "Say _cheese_!"

Hermione followed these directions without question. "Cheese!" She said while Viktor stood there in confusion. The camera emitted a bright abrupt pinpoint of light and Viktor blinked rapidly. There was no smoke from the camera.

"I think something is vong with your camera." He said.

The tiny wizard came up to McGonagall and said something to her. McGonagall nodded, "Would you mind putting your hand on Miss Granger's waist?"

Viktor stood there for a long moment, then turned to Hermione and asked, "Is that alright?"

"Oh. Oh! That's fine." Hermione looked pale. Viktor took his hand from her arm and settled it on her torso above her hip. There was a very slight dip because her hips weren't wide. Viktor's hand slid over the slippery material and down her leg. Hermione made a weird sound which ended in a laugh. Color was rising into her cheeks. Viktor placed his hand back on her hip and Hermione wriggled and violently pushed his arm away. "_NnnyyyeAAH_..." She was shaking in laughter. "Sorry, Professor. Sorry. Ok. Go ahead, Viktor."

He put his hand on her waist and she couldn't smile properly for biting her lip. Then Hermione put her hand on his to keep it still. She composed herself. Viktor was amused, which caused him to smile for the first time in years at a camera. Both the bright flash and the purple and green smoke floated into the air. The camera man nodded to them happily, looking very relieved it was over. "Very good, very good. That's all, then." He mumbled.

"Ames." McGonagall turned to the wizard. "I'll send in the other Champions when it's convenient. The ball should be starting soon. You'll need time to set up, won't you? You still need Harry Potter and his partner for pictures?"

"Yes, that's correct. I could do with a better picture of the girl Champion, too." He looked very unhappy about that fact. "Yes... Yes. I'd better pack up."

"Very well." McGonagall turned and checked her watch. "It's almost time. I'll hold onto your camera, Miss Granger. You can't have it walking in."

Viktor watched as Hermione seemed to stiffen, then give a very shallow nod.

"On your way, then."

Viktor and Hermione left the tent. A group of chattering students were descending from the Durmstrang ship and moving in a pack across the snow to the castle. When Hermione and Viktor reached the front doors, he heard Natasha shout over to him in Bulgarian, "_**Viktoooor! Do not try and run from us tonight! We'll see you with your pretty little girlfriend no matter what you do!"**_

Hermione had turned her head with difficulty to see who had said his name. Viktor said, "Do not heed them. They are just acting stupid."

Natasha was loud-mouthed and persistent. It would only be a matter of time before they cornered him. He could already hear a few catcalls and pointed laughter in his direction. He felt the stares on the back of his head. All he could do was be thankful that Natasha didn't know a scrap of English save for a few butchered words, and Nikolai, who was fluent in English, Bulgarian, and Russian, enjoyed playing with Natasha far too much to let on that he could understand everything that was said. He had failed to mention this little snippet to her.

They entered the castle with McGonagall on the tail of the Durmstrang lot.

"Champions over here, please!"

Hermione walked so stiffly it felt like she was freezing up in the spot. Viktor slowed his strides to keep beside her. They made it last to the other Champions and she looked like she didn't want to be too close to the others.

She was back to being pale. A lot of people were filing into the Great Hall. Many were looking at him, and he noticed, many Hogwarts students looked at Hermione with varying degrees of emotion, but the common expression seemed to be shock and disbelief. He thought in retaliation, _She does not look that different from usual._

"Are you alright?" He asked her.

"How do you do it?" She asked, voice a little above a whisper.

"How do I do vhat?"

"...Walk into a crowd, knowing everyone is going to be looking at you..."

Viktor thought a moment, then said, "I do not care vhat people think of me. I know that their opinion of me means nothing... my pride is on how I think on myself." He looked at Hermione's face, which was still looked very apprehensive.

"What about your first Quiddich match... professionally? Weren't you nervous?"

Viktor chuckled having to recall so quickly his first game. For months afterwards he'd brooded on it and thought he'd been an idiot. Hermione smiled uncertainly and looked him in the face before darting her eyes back down.

"I vas horrible in the first match. They called time-out because I vas so bad. I guess it is the same thing. I vas nervous because vhat I vas doing vas something important to me and I did not vant to mess it up. I locked up on my broom, vhich never happened to me before. I vas frozen. I got hit by bludger in the face." He pointed to his crooked nose that had a scar down the side of it. "It broke my nose. That vas my first time." That was also one of the reasons he'd been upset about the Quiddich cup. The greatest match of his life had been an exact replication of his poorest match, at least in that one instant. He'd gone temporarily insane, he thought, making up for that first match by being relentless and reckless and ending the Quiddich Cup all too soon.

He sighed. "I came to terms vith the idea... vhat vould happen vould happen. If I vas bad or good at vhat I did, the vorld vould not stop. It vill go on vith or vithout me. But I knew I vas good, so I stopped caring. Sometimes I do not care at all about something becos I know if I think about it too much I vill make the problem vorse." He looked at Hermione who was looking intently at him. "Sorry, I am rambling." He said, then shrugged. "You do not care vhat others think, right? You vork to make house elves happy becos it is important. You vill keep vorking to make it happen even if people do not like it?"

"Yes." There was no uncertainty in her voice. "Of course I will."

"You vill think vhat you vant and do vhat you vant even if other people don't agree. It is same thing here. They vill think vhat they vant, if you fall or do not fall, if you dance vell or do not. You might as vell have a good time and not be nervous."

* * *

Hermione finally understood the cause of her nerves. As Viktor and her stood side by side, in increasing anxiety for the Yule Ball, she'd been waiting for _it _to happen.

She'd been waiting for the collision, the substantial, the tumultuous... In reality, when the doors of the Great Hall had opened and all the Champions and their partners were walking into the crowd of their peers, Hermione's insides had squirmed so uncomfortably she could no longer speak, even if she'd wanted to. She was pretty sure that she looked like she was going to be sick.

She gripped hard onto Viktor's arm without realizing. She couldn't even understand what she'd thought was supposed to occur. But walking across the expanse of the room, one foot in front of the other, each step without incident reaffirmed her conclusion, reaffirmed Viktor's words. Everything was okay. And when she saw the looks of extreme anger and confusion on some faces, especially the girls who frequented the library, she could face them. If something was going to happen it would happen now. She admitted to herself that they all looked rather silly, like birds whose feathers had been prodded to puff out in indignation.

Hermione would have scoffed if she could, but she wasn't _that _comfortable. Hermione caught a rather sullen expression pointed directly at her from Karkaroff, Viktor's headmaster. There were dark thoughts much more poignant behind that twisted face than the revenge plots of 7th year girls.

She whispered to Viktor as they approached, "Your headmaster doesn't look too pleased."

Viktor replied, "He does not often look pleased." And pulled out Hermione's chair at the table.

And that was Hermione's cue. She suddenly felt lighter, felt the weight lifting off her shoulders at last, felt accomplished for crossing the room. No great judgement had stopped her. The looks and the stares meant nothing now. She thought, _Let them look, I'm going to enjoy myself_, and began talking to Viktor, who had seemed quite willing to give her his undivided attention. She was a burst of energy, and for the first time that day, her smile was genuine and her stomach wasn't twisting like a coiled snake.

They talked about the decorations and Durmstrang's Christmas celebrations, viewed their menus and had trouble deciding what to order, then when it arrived on their plates, had trouble caring that there was food at all to be eaten. Their mouths spoke more than they chewed, and Hermione's did even more than that. She had forgotten her food completely and was listening with interest as Viktor had gone into an animated discussion on the differences of their castles.

"Vell, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking..."

When it came time for the dance, Hermione accepted Viktor's help from her chair and took his hand as she straightened her dress out. Before they stepped down and out onto the dance floor, Viktor leaned over to speak to her. "Ve vill do the part you know, then?" There was a slight twinge of nervousness fluttering in her stomach as she saw the dark outlines of faces on the edge of her vision, and it seemed like a million cat eyes were staring at her from the dark... but Viktor spoke very firmly and said, "I vill lead." which made Hermione laugh and say rather sarcastically, "Of _course_." on impulse in an attempt to regain her confidence. She remembered their practices in the abandoned classroom and his constantly repeating 'I vill lead. I vill lead.' over and over. Did he think she was going to grab his waist and lead him across the room, telling him when to twirl?

"Oh? Did you vant to lead? You lead." He said in a rather serious tone, and Hermione hissed, "Nonono. You lead, you lead!" As he put his hand on her waist and she adjusted to his height to cup his shoulder, he grinned in a way that gave her the instant desire to want to hit him over the head with something or make a rude face at him; she couldn't decide which. She had to hold in a retort because the music was starting to play.

The Weird Sisters played a tempo that was significantly slower than the orchestral record she'd used to learn on. Viktor led her into the dance much more easily, but Hermione knew she wouldn't have a problem with it. Slower or not, it was the same thing her body knew. The short routine she had learned they repeated, but Viktor led her widely across the floor in a way he hadn't done in the classroom. Her legs had to stretch to keep up with him.

Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry and Parvati spinning awkwardly in place. "_Really_." She chanced a look at the other two Champions and their partners as a few teachers began to join them. Fleur was leading Roger Davies in a rather taxing tango while Cedric and Cho, although more flamboyant and eager in their dance, were really just going in circles like Harry and Parvati.

"I should have known I'd be the only one to bother to learn how to dance. Look at Harry... That's definitely not a waltz."

"You got a new member for the Society of Elves and Welfare at least." He said.

Hermione snorted as she twirled and looked back at Viktor. "I remain to be the only member who knows what organization they belong too. Which reminds me, you still owe me two sickles."

"Do not mix business and pleasure." He chuckled, "Which reminds me," He repeated after her, "you do not know full valtz. You can not say you haff learned it."

"I'll look stupid trying to learn it in front of everyone."

"I vill look stupid dancing to anything _but _a valtz."

So Hermione relented, and Viktor led her slowly around, taking care to not bump them into anyone as the crowd became more cluttered. Viktor had almost gotten through it once with her, without any tripping or major incidents, _thank god,_ when the music dwindled to a stop and the Weird Sisters began their introduction to the gathering crowd after more applause.

"Okay," Hermione said with a smile, "Time to look stupid now."

It was as if the crowd around them had turned into one large mass. Everyone pushed close together and many students started shouting happily, whistling and cheering when the next song started up. A lot of people were jumping up with the music. Hermione had gotten bumped continuously on the way towards the make-shift stage and still more elbows pushed in around them. Hermione and Viktor were knocked into each other an excessive amount, but still they danced, whether they looked stupid or not. When the song seemed to be ending, a loud voice caught Hermione's attention. She heard someone shout to Viktor then speak in very fast Bulgarian. At least, she assumed it was Bulgarian. She definitely couldn't understand it. She shouted over to Viktor, "Someone's calling for you!" Viktor shouted something back but Hermione couldn't hear grabbed Viktor's sleeve and leaned in towards him and spoke, "Someone's calling for you."

* * *

Viktor sighed, no longer able to avoid it. He'd heard and understood the shout over the crowd. He'd simply ignored it. Natasha would be sated whether he liked it or not. "Do you vant to meet my friends?" He asked her, leaning close to her ear. Hermione nodded and they had to push their way through the crowd to a very tall girl in a bright orange dress. Her hair was dark and cropped around her cheeks. She stood next to an even taller Durmstrang boy who wore robes a lot like Viktor's.

When they came upon Viktor's friends, Hermione was thunderstruck by how tall they stood over them. Natasha was as tall as Viktor, and the other was a head or more taller than _her_. But Natasha was smiling when they approached. The noise was so loud they had to talk in raised voices, "_**Does she know Bulgarian?"**_

She looked at Hermione, who was politely gazing at them, and got her answer before Viktor could tell her _**"No."**_

"Hey-looo." She said with a wave to Hermione.

Viktor spoke, "This is Natasha. She is the only girl from Durmstrang to make it to Hogvarts for the Tournament." He gestured to the tall smiling girl, who looked incredibly happy and rather excited. Hermione began to nod and say "hello" back but Natasha pulled her in for a very firm handshake. _**"I'm Natasha Boyko. Glad to finally meet you! Viktor has been hiding you away from us! If it wasn't for you he wouldn't be in shouting distance of a library." She grinned and looked to Viktor to translate for her.**_

"Natasha says she is happy to meet you."

She looked at Viktor who was waiting to translate, " Oh! I'm Hermione Granger. It's nice to meet you, too."

"_**She says it's nice to meet you."**_

Natasha put her hands on the Durmstrang males shoulder and said, _**"This is Nikki Stanimir. Tell her that he is my boyfriend, Viktor. Girls don't like it when other girls show up. Don't let her be confused."**_

Viktor gave her a short glare, which she smiled at with encouragement, taking no blame that she herself was the confusing one if anyone was. "Nikki" looked in amusement at Natasha but said nothing.

"This is Nikolai Stanimir." Hermione had to crane her head up to look at him, and he gave a short bow.

_**"You did not tell her. Do you want problems later on?" **_Natasha, who hadn't expected any better from Viktor, glared at him momentarily. Viktor's sentences were far too short to be expressing Natasha's thoughts properly.

_**"There is no reason to say anything like that."**_

_**"It won't hurt to say it. It might hurt to NOT say it. Can't you just trust me? I'm a girl, too, you know." **_

Viktor gave Natasha a smile that very much doubted the fact.

Then Natasha hastily gave up on Viktor and patted Nikolai's shoulders. She looked at Hermione and pantomimed. She pointed to Nikolai and herself and made kissy-faces, then she took a firm grip on Nikolai's shoulder and forced him down to her height. She kissed him on the cheek and waved her hand for Hermione to guess what she was trying to say.

Hermione looked at Viktor for a second then back to Natasha. "He's your boyfriend?" She asked.

"_**He's your victim?" **_Viktor smiled harmlessly.

_**"What? She didn't say that... Stop being stupid."**_ Natasha stamped her foot, then she pointed to Viktor and slapped her other hand like she was hitting a disobedient child so Hermione could see.

Finally Nikolai intervened, as much for Viktor's sake as his own. _**"Do you still want a drink, Natasha?"**_

Viktor turned towards Hermione and asked her the same, but in English. Hermione agreed and Viktor and Nikolai went in the direction of the refreshments, which were lodged on a table in the back corner of the room. Very inconvenient place for drinks, really. No one could get to it without a fight. Viktor looked over his shoulder at Natasha, who had sidled over to Hermione and was pointing at his back, then pointed at Hermione and gave very enthusiastic two-thumbs up. He couldn't see Hermione's reaction.

_**"Let's get the drinks fast, Nikolai, before Natasha learns to sign language.**_"

* * *

Hermione, left standing alone in the crowd, felt flushed and light headed. She didn't want to seem silly standing by herself, especially when many girls were already giving her hard gazes. She'd only begun to notice the full brunt of them after Natasha had scuttled away to talk to one of the Durmstrang students. Viktor wasn't back yet, so she headed towards Ron and Harry, who sat at a table near the entrance doors to the Great Hall.

She sat in an empty chair, one of the many around their table, too tired to think about what she was saying. "It's hot, isn't it?" She said, waving her hand in front of her face. Her head was pounding and there was silence. "Viktor's gone to get drinks." She said in explanation, misinterpreting the look Ron was now giving her.

"_Viktor?_" He said, disbelief etched across his face much. Hermione was really getting irritated to see that same face. "Hasn't he asked you to call him _Vicky_ yet?"

Hermione didn't like the accusation that dripped in his words. He definitely was angry, but she didn't understand except for the possible conclusion that he was mad because she hadn't told him about Viktor. She'd expected this at the very least. He was probably also upset at her for not getting him an autograph, too, but she hadn't expected him to speak to her as if she was solely responsible for every bad thing that had happened in his life. His words were plain poison.

Instead of assuming, she simply asked, "What's up with you?" She thought this would be the best way to get it out of him. She was also too exhausted to baby him.

"If you don't know I'm not going to tell you."

Hermione looked at Ron then at Harry, who shrugged, his face just as confused as hers.

"Ron, what-?"

She sat up straight in the chair, having slumped down after she'd thrown herself into it moment ago.

"He's from Durmstrang!" Ron sputtered, as if it had been painful to hold that statement in. "He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You -" Hermione thought he was losing steam, coming to his senses. She waited, then the color she'd been fanning away from her face came back in full-blown proportions.

"_You're - fraternizing with the enemy, _that's what you're doing!"

Hermione was very close to retorting her surprise at him being able to use the word _fraternizing_ in an almost correct sense. She didn't consider the friendship they were cultivating so superficial as to be considered _fraternizing. _Was her friendship with Viktor some sort of military campaign? Owe it to Ron to think of it like that. She wasn't a chess piece he could direct in whatever way he saw fit.

"Don't be so stupid! The _enemy_! Honestly -" She'd had enough of his childish insults and insinuations. He'd asked her for the entire week _who_ she was going with to the Yule Ball as if it was _his_ business or right to even know, as if she somehow _owed_ him an explanation. The face he was making at her, full of hurt, _at what?_, and accusation was too much. It was just too much. She owed him nothing.

"_Who_ was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? _Who _was the one that wanted his autograph?" She said scathingly back. She paused and then added her own petty jibe. "Who's got a _model_ of him up in their dormitory?"

She was breathing heavily, getting more emotional than even _this_ occasion called for. The pounding in her head was growing heavier. Her heart was fluttering in her chest in an almost frightening way.

"I s'pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?"

Hermione didn't want to correct him. The truth, that he'd asked her out in the falling snow outside of Hogwarts after spending the whole day with him on the Durmstrang ship seemed like it would be out of place, asking for an explosion in the form of a Weasley tantrum, and her own business, _thanks._ It was her own prerogative. Without hesitation she said, "Yes, he did.", feeling no remorse whatsoever for her lie. She didn't often lie to Harry or to Ron. Harry looked uncomfortable and speechless at Ron. Ron looked to be after blood. She quickly added, "So what?"

_This is none of your business_, she thought.

"What happened -" Ron had crossed his arms now, leaning back in his chair. His face was stuck in a frown and his eyes didn't abandon their consistent roam across her face. She felt like a witch at an inquisition, trying to determine what to say to save her life. Ron finally said, "Trying to get him to join _spew_, were you?" He spat the word out like it was a disgusting taste in his mouth.

"No, I wasn't!" She said hotly, feeling a stab of pain in her heart. She tried to look on Ron like she had before, like a brother whose words would eventually be brushed off, and everything would be okay again. But right now she couldn't manage. She looked at Harry and the smallest, faintest whisper asked _Why aren't you helping me?_ Ron was looking at her like she was letting him down. In reality, weren't _they_ letting her down? As friends?

"If you _really_ want to know, he -" She thought of a way to explain. She didn't think either of them deserved an explanation. But she was sure incorrect rumors would spread regardless. She said vaguely, "he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!"

The greatest insult was the complete disbelief cast on Ron's face, exactly like the insulting look he'd given her when she said she'd already had a date for the Yule Ball. There was not even the vaguest hint that this _might_ have been remotely possible. He looked like he wanted to say '_Liar!' _Again and again, he was putting himself against her.

She blushed out of pure humiliation.

"Yeah, well - that's _his_ story."

There was a lingering silence. No one spoke and the awkwardness hung into the air. Ron was intent to glower until acknowledged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked quietly, looking down at the table in front of her. Her hands were clutched together on the table. She felt so useless and empty at that comment. She couldn't put together how amazingly terrible she felt, when minutes, just _bare moments _ago she'd felt exhilarated and happy.

* * *

Viktor had the drinks, and trying not to spill them, had taken awhile returning to the spot he'd left Hermione with Natasha. They were not to be found. He surveyed the room and thought he saw the color of Hermione's dress somewhere off at a table on the far side of the room. She was sitting with Harry and the redhead. He paused at the edge of the crowd. He hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but their voices, especially the redhead's was rather loud. He spoke in a very hostile tone.

"Obvious, isn't it?"

Hermione was sitting across from the boy and her body looked tense. Even from where he stood he could see that her head was dropped. She wasn't smiling.

"He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with... He's just trying to get closer to Harry - get inside information on him - or get near enough to jinx him -"

Viktor clutched the butterbeers with a grip so tight he thought surely they'd break in his hands. He meant to move but studied the look on Hermione's face. She looked extremely offended and hurt, and replied very vehemently, "For your information, he hasn't asked me _one single thing_ about Harry, not one-"

"Then he's hoping you'll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you've been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions -"

Viktor scoffed. He'd known what his egg had meant the very moment he opened it. He took it into the lake immediately. He'd hadn't needed to consult Lady Meridian or any book. He knew the scratching wailing voices of the Mermish people. He'd heard the bubbly voices of the Mermish on many occasions under the water during their many travels on the Durmstrang ship, and had been horrified to hear what they sounded like above water once when they'd stopped to ask for directions. You didn't forget the sound once you'd heard it.

And Viktor did _not_ consider their library sessions "cozy". He thought them rather the opposite. _Cozy_ was a term you applied to a situation where you're draped over the person you fancy with your face buried in their neck. For a moment, before the embarrassment and concern sets in, that is very _cozy._

"I'd _never_ help him work out that egg! _Never._" She spat out. "How could you say something like that - I want Harry to win the tournament, Harry knows that, don't you Harry?"

That struck a chord with Viktor. Viktor, although competitive, was prideful. Karkaroff had told him of the dragons and Viktor had walked away in a rage. Even while Viktor had walked away, he was still bombarded with information. Karkaroff had asked about the egg as soon as they'd gotten back to the ship, too, but Viktor was silent and gave him an answer to his question by slamming the door shut. He'd never had asked Hermione for help, as smart as she was.

As for her wanting Harry Potter to win the tournament, Viktor _did_ feel jealous, but he did not see Harry Potter jumping up to help her out, either. Her voice had also had a strange lilt to it that gave him to wonder if she even cared who won the tournament. Maybe, like Quiddich, she didn't care for the outcome.

"You've got a funny way of showing it." Grumbled the redhead.

"This whole tournament's supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making _friends_ with them!"

"No, it isn't! It's about _winning_!"

Hermione jumped in her seat when the redhead hit the table loudly. Viktor heard Harry Potter mumble something but couldn't make it out, because now Viktor was striding the rest of the distance to them, and the sound of his boots hitting the floor was all he heard. There were several people in the way now that since they'd begun to shout and he had to push past tje onlookers.

"Why don't you go and find Vicky, he'll be wondering where you are."

He watched as Hermione jumped up out of her chair, hands on the table, and shouted in retaliation, "_Don't call him Vicky!"_

Worry was in his chest now as he watched her cross over to the doors leading out of the Great Hall and fumble at the handle. She ran out.

The protective and passionate sentence rang in his ears.

_Don't call him Vicky!_

Whatever she'd said about Harry Potter winning the match that might have caused a doubtful ache in his body, he'd forgiven her instantly.

He crossed the final distance to the two, who sat in their chairs between varying degrees of emotions, as a girl in bright blue robes who he hadn't noticed jumped out of her chair and vacated the area as well.

"Vare is Herm-own-ninny?" He said, wishing he could say her name properly in front of them. He didn't like to be on uneven footing with two fourteen year olds. It was humiliating.

"No idea." The redhead said, glaring at him. Viktor glowered heavily, despising the impudent little boy all the more. _Dirty liar._ "Lost her, have you?"

Viktor bit his tongue and struggled to not toss the butterbeer in his face or smash the bottle over the ungrateful and empty head.

Instead he said, as evenly as was possible for him at the moment, "Vell, if you see her, tell her I haff drinks." He put the drinks on the table in front of them and strode out of the Great Hall, through the very doors Hermione had run out moments ago. It had been rather pointless to tell them that, but he'd felt he had to say something. He left the Great Hall with a renewed hatred for the redhead. Harry Potter seemed the lesser of the two evils now.

* * *

Hermione didn't think she'd ever felt so horrible before. Her heart had never pounded so hard in her life, despite the many things she'd experienced thus far. In her head there was a rush of horrible thoughts, repetition of words, and flashes of all the faces she'd seen over the course of one single hour that loathed, despised and hated her. All she wanted to do was hide away in a corner. She was running up the several flights of stairs to Gryffindor tower, (on the seventh floor) and made it to the fourth landing before a huge bout of dizziness came over her and her vision spotted and blurred. Her arms touched the first step of the next flight of stairs when she dropped on the ground.

Between a mostly sleepless night, anxiety, lack of food, dancing, and vehement arguing... the unlikely stairs were the final straw. Her body went limp and all was black. There was a sensation of floating and then dead silence. She felt like she was in a deep sleep.


	6. No Mistletoe Required

Author's Note: Hey everyone! I turned out to be a dirty liar again, with my excuses and my complaining that I dislike, and my "soon-to-be-posted" chapter miserably late, but alas! I regret nothing. One thing I can be completely honest about is in my response to someone who asked in the comments section, "Are you still writing on this?" Of course I am! Despite my week-two week long lags in updating new chapters, I will, and look forward to working on this story until it is completely through. If you are liking this story then you will pleased to know that this story has a long way to go before we get into any nearness of it's completion, which is why I've expressed the wish of trying to update sooner. I can't say either way on my speediness, but I think, discuss, and research my chapters before I post them, try to correct them (but I miss a lot of things), and always hope that people end up liking it. If not, well hey, as long as I'm proud of it then I'm okay. However, a few of you have talked about Viktor being so sweet, Ron being a bit of a poop-tail. Well, it's not all rainbows and skipping through fields of daises. I mean, for me, I like me a bit of angst and some drama here and there (realistically, of course). I know that I'm perceived to dislike Ron. He's not my favorite but as I write more and more from his perspective I find myself softening to him. I know so far I've done a rather lot of Ron-bashing, and it won't be any better for a little while, but fear not! Characters develop. I develop with them. And as long as _someone_ is developing then we're happy, right?

And last but not least! I am just so pleased with the followers. Every time it happens I'm so smug about it. You'd slap me, reader, I just run around and feel happy that people are enjoying something I work hard on. Reviews are so welcome (and I'll probably push for them every chapter. I will not feel bad about it!) because I think that input is always a desire for me, and interacting with the Harry Potter community tickles the fan girl inside of me. I also am just a vain jerk who wants compliments. I won't lie to you (maybe!). But any critical reviews also help me steer clear of many mistakes people make. If my feathers get ruffled then chances are it's true and I can become a better writer (and that totally benefits you). Most of my friends don't care about Harry Potter and my boyfriend is tortured by me constantly discussing things with him about it.

I think I know how to reply to reviews now too, instead of addressing certain people in my rambling author's notes pretty informally. But here you go my little ones! Another chapter. I ended up debating for a good amount of time whether I wanted to put in a _goody_ moment for you guys. I figured, I've been so bad about updating, you guys deserve it. So there you go! Hope you enjoy. If you feel that things have been too bland, things shall take a little turn soon. I won't spoil it for you :P

* * *

The small advantage that she had ahead of him seemed enough to make her disappear into thin air; as if she had never existed. He checked the library first by instinct. Inside through the narrow pane of glass all was dark and the doors were locked. No such luck there. In retrospect, he thought it was kind of stupid to go to the library after 8 O' clock on a holiday. The librarian couldn't be _that_ bad, could she?

He checked the garden outside Hogwarts, whose large looming doors were pulled wide open and left there. Students and teachers alike were mingling between the castle halls and the shrubbery. There were too many people around. He didn't think she'd want to be around others if she was upset. With no direction from there he went up the grand marble staircase he often saw her come from or head up on many occasions. He hoped she hadn't gone further than the garden or her common room. If that was the case she'd be gone for the rest of the night.

He'd been listening quite attentively trying to catch anything resembling the sound of her voice but was upon her before he even realized it. It was the color of her dress in the dark that caught him off guard. It was dark and he hadn't even been comprehensive of what exactly he was looking at until he drew nearer. From his vantage point heading up the stairs he figured it must have been a fallen curtain, except that the heap of blue had a heeled shoe, and a few steps further on his part, was unmistakably a crumpled female figure... Hermione's.

When Viktor realized this he rushed up the final steps of the staircase in twos. Viktor's wand was out in an instant and he looked to either side of him. He didn't stop until he was at her side. No one was around. There was no hint of retreating footsteps. He crouched down to the ground and grabbed her shoulder, all while trying to remain calm. But he was lapsing back to the incorrect variant of her name. "Hermy-own. _Hermy-own."_ He firmly turned her around onto her back, her legs crossing each other at the heel. Her face was blank of all emotion, white as the snow outside. Her eyes were shut but her face wasn't in any pain. He immediately checked to see that she was breathing. He leaned down and put his ear next to her nose. He could feel the air move on the side of his face.

He didn't want to chance lifting her head. He had no idea how long she'd been out. He searched with his eyes around him for something to prop under her feet but couldn't make out very much in the darkness. There were lit torches on the walls, but they were down the corridor off from the stairs and didn't cast hardly, if any light near them.

_**"Damn it." **_

He put his arm under her knees and lifted them up to get her circulation moving. He didn't know how effective it would be but he didn't know what else to do. A few moments he waited. He was about to shout for help down towards the Great Hall but he saw movement under her eyelids. Her eyelashes flickered for a moment and the light of her eyes, although dim, peeked out.

He immediately asked, "Vhat happened?" The urgency in his voice was demanding. "Did you fall? Did you hit your head?"

* * *

Time meant nothing to Hermione. When she came to she could hardly make out where she was or who was hovering above her. Eventually she could tell it was Viktor, but only from his voice. It sounded like it was coming across to her from another room. Her eyes saw things unclearly.

She couldn't make out what he was asking. She tried to say, "I blacked out", but what gibberish came out was anyone's guess. It didn't sound coherent and her voice sounded strange to her. The main feeling she had was the pounding in her chest. Her heart raced and thudded so hard she felt her chest quiver each time it slapped against. She knew she was lying there unresponsive for a length of time before she was aware he was talking to her and lifting her up. She vaguely wondered where she had learned how to float, but her brain sluggishly reminded her that it wasn't possible. She was being picked up like a bag of broomsticks by Viktor, who said firmly,"I vill get medical attention. Vhere is your infirmary?"

Hermione shook her head and tried to say no. She grabbed his sleeve tightly and shook her head, attempting to say so again. Things were starting to make more sense. His voice was closer than it had been. She was looking at the ground.

She knew one thing.

The last thing she wanted was to go to the hospital wing and have a nasty rumor spread around the school. Many people had witnessed her fight with Ron. She didn't need anyone to give an interview to Rita Skeeter and have the woman come up with some kind of trash about what _didn't happen_. It would be some dramatic story about Hermione slighted by famous Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball and Hermione Granger rushing to the 'nearest harmful object to end her miserable and tragic life'. Hermione wouldn't give her the pleasure. No journalist needed that kind of fodder for their literary cannon.

"I just need to lie down." She slurred, but Viktor understood her.

"Vhere can you lie down?"

Hermione thought of Gryffindor Tower. Her mind rebelled. But there was no other place without risking running past _someone_. The only person going back to the dormitory _this_ early would be a sad person indeed... Like herself. She was positive it would be empty.

With her options limited, the reluctant reminder that the portrait password had always changed right after New Year's led Hermione to point up the stairs.

"Portrait... Seventh floor..."

If Viktor seemed confused he did not exhibit symptoms. He went up without cease. He didn't seem to acknowledge that he was carrying another human being up three long flights of steps. Hermione would have apologized over and over but she was still dizzy and closed her eyes tightly so she didn't have to see the wavering view. When they came to the portrait, the Fat Lady and Violet, drunk as they were, stopped chattering like loud birds.

"Is something wrong? _Hic!_"

"How romantic." Violet sighed with a half-empty bottle of wine in her hand. "And it's _Christmas_."

"_Fairy Lights."_ Hermione said.

"_Hic! _She must be as drunk as a skunk, Violet. Can't even walk, the poor dear." The Fat Lady seemed already to have forgotten to keep her voice down. "Miracle she can remember the password, bless her heart... go on, then. _Hic!_"

"_I remember this one beau I used to have..." _

They began chattering again while the portrait swung open.

There was a pause on Viktor's side before they were moving again. Hermione supposed he'd had to figure out how he was going to carry her through the portrait hole. By the time Hermione was seated in an armchair and could see back to her usual standards she spied Viktor poking at the wood in the fireplace to bring the flames up. When he noticed her watching him he immediately asked, "Vhat happened?"

It was dark in the common room and there was not a soul to be found. Hermione had never seen the common room so empty. She was desperately thankful.

"I fainted." She replied, feeling as if the life had been drained from her body. At least her heart was starting to slow down. She let the poofy red armchair envelope her into it's cushy person.

"You vere not... hexed or anything?" His voice was hesitant, and she could tell, even as she was, that he'd thought this theory was the most probable out of any.

"No." She tried to articulate. "Didn't sleep much... exhausted... "

"I knew I should haff vent over to you earlier. I vould haff known you vere nervous. You vould not haff vorried yourself sick."

Hermione tried to explain that it wasn't his fault. Instead she shook her head.

"Here. You vill feel a little better vith a present." He pulled out a small box, wrapped in gold paper, out of his pants pocket and handed it to her from the chair next to hers.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed and fumbled for the gift, the surprise of getting something from Viktor completely taking her aback. She felt horrible, and not just from having fainted. "I... I didn't get you anything... I didn't even think about it..." She was warmer from the fire and although she didn't think she could stand just yet, she was feeling better, enough to talk at least now that she was expending the effort.

"I do not care. I did not think there vould be a chance to give to you, so I am happy."

Hermione bit her lip and stared down at the present.

Viktor, unsure of their traditions said tentatively, "You haff to unvrap it."

Her lips were torn between a frown and the gentle upwards tug of an amused smile. "Yeah." She said, and pulled at the glittering silver bow on top. He watched her unwrap it by pulling at the fold where the tape was at. She meticulously tried not to tear the paper. He would have smiled at her weird quirk with opening a present but the wait was too intense. His foot started to bob back and forth in anxiety. She turned the brown leather box in her hands and studied it, then opened it up and replied automatically with a wide-eyed look in his direction, "I can't accept this..." She looked back down into the box and he reached over to pick out the long slender object out of it's case.

"It is a..." He struggled for the word. He didn't know what it was in Bulgarian, either. "It is for hair." He looked at her face again. "It vas not expensive." Hermione took the barrette from him. As the light from the fire caught on it's jeweled surface the glittering stones reflected back on her face in the form of very tiny rainbow prisms. It was comprised of a long rectangle with a well-set cluster of white stones.

The silence was not what he'd anticipated for the gift. Then it dawned on him he hadn't anticipated any kind of reaction. He'd asked Natasha what a good gift would be and she'd helped him pick out something fitting. He'd simply handed the money over. It had been delivered a few days before Christmas, wrapped and all. Now he could see that the gift could be taken the wrong way and he felt stupid for having asked Natasha for help. Natasha always assumed things.

"It is... for hair." He repeated. "Vhen you read at the library your hair falls in your vay. Now you can... keep it out of the vay." He stumbled, his grasp of the language was faltering. "It looks expensive. It is not. It is some kind of stone. It tells your mood vhen you vear it. I do not know. I vas never good at gifts."

Hermione bit her lip and looked at him guiltily. He finally said in a very finalized tone, "You should keep it because I can not vear it."

Hermione cracked a smile but her smile turned down again and she said, her voice locking up and coming out very odd, "Thank you, Viktor." He could see that she still felt very bad and he could see again why he liked her. She was very up front and genuine, but in a soft way that appealed to him.

"I still wish I'd have thought to get you something..."

Viktor could think of a gift he'd like, but it would require steering her over to a mistletoe to get it. Viktor tried to think of something comforting to say but Hermione suddenly perked up. "Wait a minute." She said. "Well, no..."

"Vhat?"

"It's silly." She said. "You'd probably hate it anyway."

"I do not care." He replied. Anything from her was better than nothing. If he'd treasure a borrowed book he could treasure a quill or candy wrapper.

"_Well..."_ She bit her lip harder. "Okay then." She pushed herself out of the chair and Viktor stood up suddenly, reaching his hand out in case she seemed like she would topple over. "It's okay. I feel better." She seemed a little more cheery than before, her face still red, especially around the eyes, but at least she didn't look upset.

She carried her present carefully with her to a door he could now make out in the dark only because she was opening it. "I'll be right back. It'll only take me a minute." She paused.

"And...Will you promise not to tell anyone I brought you here?" Hermione asked. "This is our common room. I wasn't supposed to bring you. It infringes on student privacy, but..."

"I do not know vhat a Gryffindor common room even is."

He saw her move to explain but then he felt her catch his smile. She went through the door apparently appeased.

Viktor sat back into the chair. The silence around him breathed heavily and he thought to himself, _She is too trusting, _before nervously drawing himself up and slouching over in the chair, placing his clasped hands under his chin and his elbows on his knees. He watched the fire flicker and move.

When he heard the clinking of the handle on the door he jumped up out of the chair again and she walked over to him with a bundle in her arms he couldn't quite make out. She looked incredibly shy about it as she unfolded a piece of clothe, revealing a very wide and long knit scarf. It was a mixture of dark burgundy, blue, and a little bit of yellow and white mixed in at places.

"It's one of the first ones I made. I did it for practice. I wanted to make sure I knew how to do it properly before I started working on more complicated patterns for the house elves." Viktor picked it up from her hands and felt the soft threads in his fingers.

"For House elves?" He asked, confused.

"Obviously _that one's _not for house elves. I knit a lot of clothes. I was hoping the house elves would pick them up, to set them free..."

Viktor chuckled, feeling that playful warmth spread through his body as it did when he was around her. "Very sneaky. Does it count?" He looked at her now and she seemed steady on her feet.

"Technically." She shrugged. "Maybe. Not a single house elf has picked it up, even on accident..."

When she talked about the house elves she was rather cute. She got fired up and passionate, and sometimes, like now, she'd be bashful and embarrassed. He couldn't help but make fun of her. "So now I haff the master scarf."

"It's not very good. It's the only one it's size." She paused and then rushed on, "But then you said you don't get cold easily so maybe it's not a good gift after all..."

"It is perfect gift. It's much colder at home. I vill use it often." He said, becoming inspired by it. "I vill try it now. Let's go to Hogsmeade. I haff not been and I vant to go."

"It's nearly ten!" Hermione stammered.

"Three Broomsticks does not close until late, right? Ve did not haff our butterbeers."

Hermione didn't need him to tell her. It was her fault. She'd run away before they'd had their drinks. She opened her mouth then refused to close it stupidly the way she'd done several times before in his presence, "Hogwarts students can only go on scheduled weekends."

"It is Christmas. Vho vill scold you?"

"If we get caught -"

"I vill take the blame."

Hermione doubted anyone could reprimand Viktor Krum from a late night outing but her defiance looked rather resolute.

Viktor spoke again, "Ve danced and smiled. They took our pictures. Ve vere good and did vhat they all vanted." He paused. "Did you vant to go back to the party?"

"Of course not." She replied instantly, a frown on her face now. "But still..."

"You fainted. You need food. You did not eat a bite at dinner." He said sternly.

"I just had something when I went up to the dorm. I had a bit of tart."

"That is not enoff. You haff to eat something better than sweets. If you are not going back to the party, are you going to make the poor house elves cook again?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. It was true. She was ravenous. Her stomach grumbled at the mention of a proper meal. Viktor smiled in victory and Hermione gave him a dirty glare.

"Oh, all right then. No need to lay the guilt on."

"I do not know vhat you mean. I am only thinking of house elf rights."

* * *

Hermione looked down at the broomstick floating to her side with her arms crossed as she shivered in the cold. Her school cloak was pulled on over her very flimsy dress but it didn't combat the cold as properly as she'd expected. She looked at the broom as if it was a personal affront to her.

"Vhat is vong?" Viktor asked, making the final adjustments on his newly acquired scarf. He didn't want it flapping about in his face when they got into the air. "It is a two-seater. Very steady broom." He patted the invisible cushion in front of him. The broom was longer than the brooms at their school. She supposed this was because it was built for two.

"Are you sure?" She asked, eyeing the broom warily.

"Yes. I do not ride it often but it is the only two-seater I haff."

"You're not going to... do any twirls on it or anything, are you?" Hermione's face was pale and she felt faint-at-heart. She was actually very terrified of heights. She was pretty sure this fear attributed to her less than average performance with broomsticks. Oh, give her a broomstick and she could sweep the living daylights out of a floor. But don't ask her to ride one.

"Do you vant me to?" He asked with a grin. "I haff not been on a broomstick in quite avhile. I only rode a few times before ve got to Hogvarts." Viktor had been pining to ride so badly that it almost was like he was rebounding back into some illicit substance. His fingers tingled at the feel of the broomstick beneath him. He'd been avoiding the broomsticks he'd brought with him on the ship because he hadn't wanted to make a spectacle of himself at Hogwarts. He got enough attention as it was. Getting on a broomstick would cause near havoc.

"That doesn't make me feel any better." She muttered.

"You must be very frightened of brooms." He said.

"Why do you say that?" She refused to move from the spot to get any closer.

"You are questioning vhether a professional Quiddich player can fly vell enoff to get two miles down the road in von piece."

Hermione, seeming to catch on at her irrationality, looked pointedly at the empty space in front of Viktor. "Why am I sitting in front? I can't steer it."

She felt Viktor's eyes on her face. "You vill not be fainting off a broom on my vatch. You sit in front. I can steer."

"We should have changed at the very least. It's freezing out here." She chattered her teeth at him.

"Then the faster we get there the sooner ve can varm up."

"Okay." She said defeated. "Should I... get on it side straddle, or... like you are? Which one is safer?"

"Vhat is side-traddle?"

"Side straddle." She tried to explain. "Like... you sit on it without straddling it." Then finding this explanation insufficient she demonstrated by navigating very clumsily to the cushion and patted her dress down over her rear to make sure it was where it should be. She sat down with both feet still planted on the ground and gripped the broom on either side of her with both hands.

"Ready?" He asked, pushing his leg against the ground and shooting the broom into the air.

Hermione shrieked loudly and, as frightened as she was, remembered the playground bars from elementary school that she'd sit on and would fall backwards over, only to catch the bar with her legs and hang upside down. Her reasoning didn't reckon that she wanted to shadow those movements several dozen feet in the air at a time in her life she wasn't sure she could replicate her childhood self. In that split second her arms flew into the air wildly before she grabbed onto the only steady thing: Viktor. She grabbed two handfuls of his robes into her hands and held onto him for dear life. She wanted to scream, _WHY DID YOU DO THAT!? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! ARE YOU INSANE?!_ But she managed a small squeak and trembled in fear as she gazed towards the ground soundlessly. They were barely two feet up in the air.

Hermione ignored the consistent chuckling beside her. She'd wanted to tell him he was... was... _something horrible, _but they flew higher into the air over the Hogwarts gate and Hermione was hit in the face with the iciest wind she'd ever felt in the whole course of her life. It was bad enough outside. To fly in this weather was insanity. She could see the yellow fuzzy blobs of lamppost lights underneath her and closed her eyes tight.

"_Oh God."_ Her stomach was squirming just thinking about it. She hadn't realized that for the better part of the two or three minutes they'd been up in the air, her face had been buried in the scarf at Viktor's neck.

There was a very long pause that Viktor ceased chuckling. Hermione felt that they'd stopped moving but she couldn't be sure because the wind was still blowing hard. They might still be hovering ten feet skywards for all she knew. She chanced a look down. Her feet were maybe two inches from dirty road-worn snow.

"Ve are here."

He tried to dismount from the broom. Hermione's clammy hands refused to let go of his front. She didn't trust brooms. She just didn't. She could imagine the broom floating away now that Viktor was off and taking her with it. She'd be thirty feet in the air with no control. It'd fly her off to the middle of nowhere and tip her off like it'd done to Neville in their first year. As if _one single broom_ had it out for her.

Because of Hermione's steel grip, Viktor was hunched over towards her. He put a hand on the broom to steady it. She scrambled off instantly. Only when her feet touched the ground did she relinquish Viktor's robes. He took the broom up into his hand and checked it over thoroughly, as he did to all of his brooms, regardless of the strenuousness of the ride. "You have the vorst case of broom-fright I haff ever seen." His face seemed serious, but only just. She caught a very amused look as he peeked up from the broom inspection, though she noticed he fought the smile trying to make an appearance.

She bristled up and squared her shoulders. "Don't make fun of me." When she said that the smile won out and he straightened up too, putting the broom over his shoulder, "I vill not." And he had to look away to keep his face straight.

Hermione, understanding completely why his face was turned, accused him silently with her tone that she knew what he was on about. "C'mon... I know it doesn't bother _you _but it's freezing out here. Let's get inside."

Flying on broomsticks through town was prohibited; too many accidents where riders came in way too fast and ran into pedestrians had necessitated regulations on the town. It wasn't until the windows of Zonko's Joke shop had been broken from a flyer that they really began to enforce the law, though.

They trudged through the snow over the cobbled road through Hogsmeade. Hermione wanted to run down the lane just to bring some kind of warmth into her limbs. She chanced a look at Viktor to her right and saw a very uncharacteristic expression on his face. Or was it so out of character for him to look so content? He looked like he'd been told he'd won the wizard's lottery, or more relevant, as if he has won the Quiddich World Cup.

They walked right down the middle of the road. Not a soul was in sight. Hermione was almost worried that The Three Broomsticks would really be closed, despite the sign that read: "Open on Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Years!" in pretty elegant cursive. There was an old witch in the corner of the pub and Madam Rosmerta could barely be seen, aside from the golden curls piled on top of her head behind the counter. When the bell above the shop jingled Madam Rosmerta jumped up and switched off a very old tube television that Hermione recognized as having been airing a station Hermione's mother watched quite often. It usually comprised of very dramatic soap operas.

Instead of looking displeased at being interrupted, even as she was finishing a bit of a chocolate truffle, Hermione saw a cheerful glint in her eyes as she looked them over.

"Yes, we're open! Merry Christmas! Sit anywhere you like, I'll be right with you." Madam Rosmerta began to shuffle behind the bar counter.

Viktor looked around him in interest but Hermione knew already where she wanted to sit. The Three Broomsticks had always been too busy on Hogsmeade weekends. She'd never had the opportunity to sit by the front door, where a large protruding glass window arched out from the wall and a single square table sat in a nook overlooking the entire view of the road and shops outside. Every time she entered the dark pub that table had always been occupied. Hermione walked over to it and Viktor followed. She looked in satisfaction at the merry scene outside of the window. The lampposts that had looked so different from above, sported large red velvet bows. Madam Rosmerta was on their heels with two butterbeers in hand.

"Knew you two would be freezing. I can barely stand it when customers open the door, the draft is so bad." She put the mugs on the table. Hermione looked at the drink that she hadn't order yet.

"Not to worry, dear. The first round is on the house. It's Christmas after all. But I hope you order more than that." She said with a laugh. It rang like twinkling bells.

"Thank you!" Hermione said in a rush. "That's very thoughtful." And she fell quiet and sipped on her drink, feeling the instant rush of warmth spread throughout her fingers and toes. It hit the spot immediately. Then Madam Rosmerta eyed Viktor, seemed to have caught something, and eyed Hermione, too. Hermione knew that Madam Rosmerta couldn't possibly memorize every student's face but she was almost certain that she'd caught onto Viktor. He didn't try to hide, but it wasn't like he could if he'd wanted to. He was too distinctive from the papers.

"Fancy running from the Yule Ball," She said in a lowered voice. The witch in the back didn't seem interested at all in the newcomers- maybe she was deaf. "For the life of me, I know _we_ never got any kind of thing like that... The grandest ball in the century they're calling it, 'least for students, that is. That's what the Daily Prophet said. Is it as nice as I've heard? They got the Weird Sisters, didn't they?"

Hermione looked warily at Viktor, unsure if she should confirm the obvious for certain. They _weren't _supposed to be there, after all. Viktor was loosening his scarf and didn't seem at all bothered. It was pointless to hide it.

"They did. They're very good in person." Hermione replied.

Madam Rosmerta seemed to catch onto Hermione's wariness and winked. "No need to worry, dear. Never understood why students can't come to Hogsmeade if they're not in classes. Would be excellent for business." She shrugged and gazed on them with the same good cheer marked across her face. Then she seemed to look back towards the TV she'd apparently turned back on. The volume was high enough that Hermione could hear a male announcer speaking. "But goodness, I'll stop rambling. You didn't come here to hear me talk! Can I get you anything? More butterbeer?" She asked nodding towards Viktor's glass that was already half-empty.

"Do you haff food?" Hermione noted Viktor's scarf sat folded on the edge of the table.

"Sure I do! Just the usual. Fish and chips, meat pies, some sandwiches. We have a Shepard's pie I baked today. That'd be the easiest." She looked at her watch. Hermione understood. They were on a time limit. It was closer to 11 than it was to 10 now. Hermione, for the first time, was able to see the curvy pub keeper in a new light. She always seemed like a loud and silly woman, the object of young male student crushes, but then half of that was due to her profession, and Hermione had never spoken more than two words to the woman. There was a keen understanding between them when Hermione's eyes connected to hers.

"I'll have that - the Shepard's pie."

"I vill haff the same."

"It'll be right out." Madam Rosmerta disappeared, leaving them in their private nook.

Hermione felt warm inside, and not just from the butterbeer. She smiled into her mug. Maybe it was because they were out from where they should have been, or maybe it was because it was Christmas, but Hermione felt very giddy and lighthearted. It dawned on her now that they had made a great escape.

"Vhat?" Viktor asked.

"Hm?"

"You are smiling."

"Oh, uh - I feel a lot better now." She put the glass down. "Now that I've had something."

"The butterbeer is very good. I haff never had it. Even in Bulgaria everyone has heard of butterbeer and everyone knows that The Three Broomsticks has the best. It is a lot sweeter than I thought. I thought it vas alcoholic?"

"Only a little bit, which is why students are allowed to drink it. But I think house elves are very susceptible to butterbeer. I don't know if it's because of their size or their make. I hope Winky never gets ahold of a bottle of Firewhiskey..."

"Ah!" Viktor knocked his knuckles on the table which made Hermione jump. "That reminds me. I haff to go to a different pub here in Hogsmeade sometime. I forget the name..."

"The Hog's Head?"

"Yes. That is it. My father vants a certain brand of Firevhiskey that is hard to find vhere we live. My family is fond of drinking but they are happy drunks. Haff you had Firevhiskey before?"

"No, but I've tried plenty of different types of wines. I've heard Firewhiskey burns too much. It gives you a false sense of courage."

Viktor laughed outright. "Vell, that is _all_alcohol. But Firevhiskey is bad for it most of all. It burns and makes you varm and you cannot sit still. You haff to do something. Usually something stupid." He grinned. "Vhen I joined the team none of the other players knew me. They vanted to test me. They insisted that every member had to drink Firevhiskey and do a bunch of... uhh... tricks... different things..."

"Like an obstacle course?"

"Kind of. Vell, they did not know I drank vith my father and uncles and ve often got on brooms aftervards and played drunken Quiddich matches. My family vould vatch, we vould make bets and it probably vasn't a very good influence for my young cousins, now that I think about it, but ve did that at least vunce a year for days at a time. Ve vould just do stupid things. I haff drank since I vas fifteen. It is not bad for you. It teaches you how to handle it vhen you are older. Vhen you are older and drink then you can do more damage. If you drink earlier then you do not care to impress people later on. It is no big deal."

Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen Viktor look so comfortable before. Even around his Durmstrang buddies his lips didn't move very much and he ate his food at the table and left when he was finished. It was odd to see him talking so freely, elbows on the table, taking swigs from his drink and seeming to enjoy the empty pub as if he had not a care on his mind.

Hermione was in a marvelous mood. That's all she could really think. She was animated just listening to him talk. His voice seemed to reverberate through her body like an echo. At first it seemed very close, then it seemed to slip further. Hermione didn't realize that she was smiling quite often and comfortably herself. She was _really_ comfortable actually. Almost like she was tired... but she wasn't. She wondered if getting away from Hogwarts and being alone with Viktor was somehow fogging her mind. It was like being in Professor Trelawny's classroom, except it wasn't unpleasant and she wasn't around an over-grown bat with spectacles. She felt the urge to tell him that she agreed about his opinion on drinking and that "I'm not surprised you've been drinking so long." She put her hand over her mouth immediately and almost had a hard time navigating her hand to her face. She tried to catch herself. "I mean - Bulgaria isn't _that_ far from Russia. I mean - Russians are often stereotyped as drinking vodka for breakfast."

He looked at her in surprise for a slight moment before he laughed. Hard. "That is not true for all Russians, but for Ivan, Ivan Volkov von of the beaters on the team, it is true. He vill not start a match vithout drink. Ve haff tried to hide his bottle but he does better vith it. He is Russian. He drinks vodka. So vhat should I drink? Vhat vould a Bulgarian order next? Butterbeer vill not vork."

Hermione instantly replied, "You shouldn't drink and drive."

"Drive?"

"Oh." She seemed to ramble at the mouth now. She found herself sitting there for a moment trying to think how to word it but her usual ability to think before opening her mouth seemed to have lessened. Her face felt numb but she had the intense desire to talk. "I was thinking of cars. You _drive_ cars. Well, _you_ don't. Muggles do. I guess you would say don't drink and _ride_ - " She was blushing a very deep red and the thoughts she'd normally keep to herself rushed out. "But that sounds perverted, doesn't it? But I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just blurting things out. Of course it isn't true... about Russians and drinking."

She saw Viktor swallow hard. She felt like she was sweating now, it was so hot in there suddenly. It all felt like everything had come in on her at once. Like some warm hand had slid across her face and made her slow and stupid. She tried to grab for her drink and missed the handle. She found herself drawing her eyes over Viktor's face without any sort of self-consciousness as she tilted the mug to finish the rest of her butterbeer, starting from the broad shoulders up to his jaw line. It was very rectangular. She guessed that was what a strong jaw looked like. She noted the stubble across the bottom of his face. It wasn't clean shaven and it dawned on her now that she hadn't ever thought about it before; whether she liked a bare face or a beard, or anything such thing. It seemed, even without an opinion either way, that what he had was very nice and attractive. She'd definitely enjoyed the sensation, abrupt and scratchy, when it dragged across her skin that one moment several days ago. She'd blushed thinking about it each time, but now it was all she could think about. She couldn't push it away like before. She couldn't turn to homework or a book now. For once she felt brave enough to look at his eyes directly, but it was a hard thing to do. Her vision was a little fuzzy and uneven. Maybe it had to do with having fainted earlier. That was an acceptable answer to her at the moment. His eyes always looked black from afar. She hadn't ever felt still enough to look when they'd been dancing or sitting near each other. For the first time she noticed that his eyes weren't black but a very dark brown, much darker than her own. And when she caught his eyes with hers for the briefest and tiniest moment they darted away.

Viktor cleared his throat and corrected her, "Uh, they often say do not drink and _fly_, if that means the same?"

"I think so." She said and looked into the remains of her drink. What _was_ she feeling? Why had she blurted out something so stupid? Why was it so hard to think straight? She was feeling the extreme urge to open her mouth again. She darted her eyes up to his face. He was taking in the last of his butterbeer and was swishing the drink around in his mouth. His lips tilted to the side and he seemed to look at the glass mug in contemplation. She felt the urge to tell him her innermost thoughts: That he was rather attractive on closer inspection, and that whereas she often thought he looked grumpy when she first knew him, she could now see it for what it was. It was intelligent contemplation and the general dislike for being smothered by others. Whereas Hermione was good at academics, people pulled away from her. They didn't think _knowing things_ was as admirable as playing a sport really well.

But, being honest with herself, Viktor hadn't asked to be famous. His eyes lit up when he spoke about Quiddich. At the world match he had soared through the air like it was the most natural thing to do. If he was good at something, _really_ good at something, he was bound to be acknowledged for it. Meanwhile, 99% of the time, if not in matches or on his broom, she could see that his existence was that of someone uncomfortable in the spotlight. Hermione felt that his life now must be a life lived in stolen moments caught at random times.

Hermione felt she would act much the same way if everyone in the school came to the library to watch her read a book or stalked her through the hallways when she was trying to study. She'd only had a taste of being in the light; she hadn't liked it at all. The stress of anticipating it had caused her to faint before the day was out. She looked at him with a new kind of understanding now. He was a very strong person to have to deal with that. She much preferred him like he was now: comfortable.

Of course, all of these thoughts were disjointed in her head and she vaguely understood how she got from one point to the other. By the end of it she was caught looking at him very intensely, and this caught _her_ off guard to where she lowered her gaze again. Maybe her time was better spent trying to figure out why she felt like she'd been run over by a train and was willfully keeping her mouth clenched so rubbish wouldn't escape.

"You said butterbeer vas not alcoholic... very much? I can not taste any alcohol."

"I drank four once. Barely felt a thing. Maybe a little tipsy but nothing more."

And Hermione thought she felt Viktor look at her critically, but the food came just then and her mind did understand one thing: She was hungry. She dived into the food with a zealousness Viktor couldn't help but comment on with a wry grin.

"Hungry?"

"A bit."

"Ah... Just a bit, then." He said with a laugh.

Hermione smiled, wishing she didn't feel so stupid doing so. She was sure her eyes weren't as open as they should be and her smile must have been a small one. She knew her face was still flushed since she felt a surge several minutes ago.

The food was good. In fact it was an experience in itself. The food was either incredibly delicious or she was tasting it in such full force as to make it an entirely different thing. It kept her from talking. She only spoke to remind him, "You were talking about your teammates earlier?" and it was as much to keep the conversation going as to keep her mouth busy with her food. She also felt exhilarated at the sound of his voice... especially the accent. Deep down she felt an indignant part fluster in surprise, telling her that was a superficial thought... but she duly noted this counter-measure and ignored it. Whatever feeling she was experiencing, it kept her sense of propriety at bay. For once in her life, she wanted to do and say exactly as she pleased, instead of forcing herself to hold it in. If that meant that she was a silly person for falling prey to the cliche of admiring a nice voice embellished with an accent, then so be it.

She listened to him for the better part of an hour. He spoke mostly about Quiddich, and another first was that she didn't mind in the least. He said the word "Quaffle" rather funny, though, which caused her to smile into her napkin so badly that when he said it several times in a sentence she sniggered for a moment. But her smile never left her face. She didn't think she could remove it if she tried.

* * *

They left the Three Broomsticks with fifteen minutes to get back to Hogwarts. Getting up from the table had been unsteady, but it wasn't until they were out of the door that it was obvious now, even to Hermione, that she couldn't walk straight even if she put her mind to it.

"You are drunk." Viktor said. "I thought you vere. Vhen did you drink if it vas not the butterbeer?" He grabbed for her arm and she took his offered help. She had to, because she felt like she would fall over. "I can not imagine that you could get this drunk vith only two butterbeer. You are the light weight indeed if that is true."

"I'm not drunk?" She asked. "Butterbeer doesn't do a thing to me. I can't be drunk."

"Haff you ever been drunk?"

"I... a little once... I was drunk. Well, almost. I walked better than this. It was in France in the summer. This last one. That's when I had the wine."

"You _are_ drunk." He said in amusement. "I assure you. Very _very_ drunk. I haff seen many drunks. I haff carted them around on the back of broomsticks and I haff dropped them off on doorsteps."

"What's it called... " She started giggling. "My designated driver...or rider, whatever you want to call it." She thought this was rather funny and continued to laugh. "I never even thought about that. Well I _am _drunk. You're right now - about that - because I'm definitely not sober."

Viktor chuckled. "No. Definitely not. You are now entering the nonsense stage." He was amused at her verbal thought processes. Even drunk she was more intelligent than the average person. Her reasoning were sound. She was able to be brought to reason with very little persuasion. But she seemed much happier for it. He only hoped that no one noticed when they got to Hogwarts, and that tomorrow morning she wouldn't be horribly sick. But had it been the butterbeer? It didn't make much sense. The amount of alcohol in the entire mug hadn't been enough to make a fly drunk.

When they neared the end of the path out of Hogsmeade and the road went from cobblestone to dirt Viktor let the broom drop from his hand and hover. For a split moment he realized he'd pulled away to steady the broom and Hermione, who hadn't been prepared, let out a gasp as she stumbled forward. Viktor grabbed her around the waist and yanked her back. "Sorry!" She said laughing. "Didn't mean to just topple over." But Viktor, with Hermione pressed tightly to his front pulled away abruptly making sure to steady her by the shoulder as he quickly sat down on the broom and adjusted.

He tried to distract himself. He almost could wrap both of his hands around her waist.

"Now hold on tight. Like you did on the vay."

She got on the broom with a little difficulty and would have fell over it backwards except for his hand on her back. She teetered forwards a bit before she grabbed his robes and replied, "Uh... Can you go slower on the way back?"

"Best I can." He replied, and Hermione, even though mind-numbingly drunk, tried not to look down or about her, although the urge was strong.

It was a much smoother ride. Hermione felt a bit of her ability to think come back, but not by much. She didn't feel the cold whip at her like before, perhaps due to the butterbeer or the slower speed on the broom. Her hand-made scarf felt warm and soft on her face. She felt an acute feeling of happiness as she realized that it was Christmas. It hadn't felt like it until now.

Viktor had chosen her to go to the Yule Ball with him. She could have spent the rest of the evening curled up alone and upset, feeling miserable and homesick, but she hadn't. Viktor had followed after her, was thoughtful enough to give her a Christmas present despite hardly having known her but for a few weeks, and had gone out of his way to spend the rest of Christmas with her. Surely he was closer to his friends than he was with her. He could have spent the evening with his friends at the party. But here he was, taking care that she would get back on time. No one had ever taken the time to treat her as well as this, in this way. He was an admirable person, she admitted. Even though she was drunk, the reason for it being mysterious in itself (she would ponder it tomorrow when she could think clearly), he didn't question her. He took every power in his means to deal with it without complaint.

She lifted her head up and saw the sky behind his face was black and clear of clouds. It wasn't snowing anymore. Thousands of stars were strewn across the sky. It was so breath-takingly cold that even the tiniest exhale of air was enough to emit a large cloud of smoke.

In the shadow of Viktor, she could still make out the shape of his face before another mist of cold air spiraled out against it.

Before Viktor had felt her move he had been trying to decipher what scent of shampoo she had used on her hair. With her directly in front and him leaned over to grab the front of the broom, it had been nearly impossible to avoid his chin from being a mere centimeter from her hair. His reasoning was sound, he felt, because he blatantly refused to feel guilty over it. He simply couldn't feel at all bad when he had two of the things near him that made him feel light in the air.

But there was a mockery of a decision before him... a semblance of freewill. She had lifted her face for whatever reason. To breathe, to ask him a question, to see how close they were to the castle... He didn't know because he couldn't think. Not a single thought was able to enter his brain. All feelings were cast aside. Her lips were right there in front of him. The distance between them so nonexistent that he felt his lips pulled in towards hers without the question of hesitation. Hers were cold until his lips sunk warmth into them. She hadn't pulled away but she'd made a noise. He could have made a judgement based on the sound of her except for the fact that he had gone temporarily deaf and blind and could only tell from the vibration against his own mouth that she had done anything at all. He had to steer the broom back towards the castle because, in whatever span of time he'd lost track of, it was heading east towards the large forest.

Their lips parted and he wasn't sure who leaned in this time. He had been frozen and wouldn't have put it past his own body to have fallen into another kiss.

He cursed the short distance between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. They were several yards from the garden and the fairy lights. People were milling into the doors. Viktor had leaned the broom down before he could think of his hate for the sight of Hermione moving to stand. He realized too late that he had been the one urging her from the broom and helping her up.

The words coming out of his mouth were not what he'd meant to say. In fact, he didn't know what he meant to say. "I vill valk you inside." He'd miraculously managed.

She was silent and he was petrified to open his mouth, but then she turned around when they came in through he doors.

"I - _Thank you_."

He was looking at her now, studying her face searchingly. She seemed able to steady herself, maybe through sheer force of will, but she was smiling as she looked down at her toes.

People were moving around them. A few people were staring.

"There is no need to thank me."

The professors were shouting over the heads of the students to return to their respective places for the night. Everyone was closing in, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons alike, as they headed outside. Hermione and Viktor moved away further into the entrance hall off to the side of the main stairs Hermione and Viktor had been up and down a little less than two hours ago.

There was a long moment of silence between them while the shouts and laughter and incoherent murmuring swirled around them. Eventually he said, "I vill see you tomorrow? In the library perhaps?"

"Okay."

"You vill probably not feel good tomorrow. You should get as much sleep as you can. I haff something if you haff a hangov-." He spied a teacher within earshot. "-headache."

She nodded soundlessly then looked at him directly now. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Hermy-own."

She didn't correct him this time and instead turned to go up the stairs.

The way that she'd said _Merry Christmas_ and the ghost-lingering sensation of her lips on his, and the fact that she hadn't pushed him away or had been upset, and then the quiet fear that maybe he had taken advantage of the situation and she would be angry with him tomorrow, all tumbled in his thoughts to the point that he maybe had three hours of sleep strung between the length of it.

* * *

Ron hadn't meant to say all those things. The thing about arguments, with as many brothers and one even more fiery sister, was that heated debates had a tendency to sort of... blow up in one blazing row of repressed fire. He would retort back without much thought. If he seemed on the verge of losing ground he would change tactics. It was a lot like chess; except for one thing. He was _good_ at chess. Arguing, well, not so much. His only solace was that he didn't _want_ to be good at arguing. Nearly every single outburst of his usually ended with him regretting much, if not everything, that he said.

He didn't know if being a redhead made it worse on him as far as tempers went. Ginny was far worse. She was quick to anger and as verbally abusive as a club to the face. She took longer to get to the point, mulled over things for weeks, but when she was ripe and ready to burst they- meaning Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and even Charlie and Bill- gave Ginny a wide berth. Between all of his brothers, Ron took the least prodding to explode and took the longest to cool down. At least with Ginny you could speak to her an hour after an episode and be on civil terms - generally. With Ron, he held onto the argument. He'd bring it up over and over until it stopped bothering him. He knew it was a horrible fault to have. He knew he should leave some things well enough alone. A lot of the time he knew he was wrong, and knew he was being irrational, but so it was.

It was worse between family, but Hermione, along with Harry, had wheedled her way into his heart as close as his family was. It's how he was: anger and affection were very close when his pride was hurt.

But Ron thought he'd been sufficiently poked and prodded this time. Hermione, who rarely ever kept a secret and would usually crumble when asked about something, had refused to do so this time. She'd held out marvelously, and for what? To keep the most relevant information from both him _and_ Harry to herself? For _what?_ Harry, who was the Triwizard Champion and could _do_ with knowing that Hermione was gallivanting around with Viktor Krum, kept in the dark? What was Ron, just a dismissed friend? Not good enough to know something like _that?_ Hermione going to the dance with Viktor Krum?

_The _Viktor Krum. Not just any famous National Quiddich player, but _THE_ best seeker and arguably one of the best fliers of the century. Also happened now to be a Triwizard Champion and biggest competition to Hogwarts for the cup.

Didn't Hermione _see?_

But he'd been completely stupefied when he realized that the pretty girl in the blue dress had been Hermione. He remembered distinctly wondering what kind of girl Krum would bring to the Yule Ball. It had been a passing thought but something that he was sure about. She had to be something special.

And Ron, barely recognizing the features of her face, while knowing instinctively that it _was_ her, had been more shocked than if Hermione had appeared on the arm of Crabbe or Goyle. Or even a house elf. _That _was her secret. _That._

Ron saw the pretty girl - Hermione again. Hermione was saying goodnight to Krum with a smile on her face he hadn't seen before. He would have related it to the kind of star struck smiles she'd given Professor Lockhart in their second year, but it wasn't quite that. It was soft around the edges and she wasn't jumping up and down in place. Ron studied Krum, whose face was different somehow, too. Every photo Ron had of Krum, which was now a lot since the World Cup, had an unvaried expression on his face. It was just how Krum looked: kind of grouchy. But he didn't look like that. His eyebrows weren't furrowed into a thick line. Ron didn't have to wonder. If Hermione had gone to the dance with Ron looking like _that_, he would have been happy too.

Despite the hair now falling out in places, she still looked stunning. He couldn't believe that Hermione's bushy hair could look almost like Fleur Delacour's water-like strands; thin and straight and falling so enticingly around her face. How had she wrangled that mass of hair? Now that he wasn't so vehement he could look at her in a more subdued light. Her face looked a little different, too. He couldn't really understand what she'd done, but it didn't look like her; and yet it was her. Just enhanced. More defined.

He had never noticed how slender her arms were, how her collar bone protruded, how well proportioned she was. But to be honest he'd never seen so much of her skin before. She usually had a robe on if she was in her nightclothes, in a school uniform, or wore sweaters and t-shirts and jeans. He'd never seen her in shorts and only knew that she had skinny legs from the knee downwards. The thought had never crossed his mind. He'd never thought to ask: Is my friend, Hermione Granger, hot? Pretty? Remotely attractive?

She was Hermione. He hadn't looked at her like that. Hermione was their friend; the smart one, the responsible one, the quick thinker. She was also a great nagger.

It occurred to him that he was trying to imagine what she looked like now that he'd seen her shoulder blades and a portion of her back. Then appalled at the direction his thoughts were taking, went back to the task at hand. He pushed the thoughts into some obscure corner of his brain, angry at himself and feeling increasingly awkward, and reminded himself that she was as guilty as if she had lied straight to his face. To keep a secret like _that?_

His breath caught in his throat and, going up the stairs after her, strode quickly to catch her. He would give her a piece of his mind... He watched her go up the stairs, hand on the railing, floaty blue dress swaying, and he changed his mind. He would apologize. He had been an arse. He wasn't proud enough to deny it.

When Ron pulled in through the portrait hole he shouted after Hermione. She stopped, seemed to stand in place for a moment, then turned around to face him. He knew that stance. She was anticipating a fight. Her lips would form a thin line, her jaw would clench, her fists would ball up if they didn't have books in them, and her eyes would turn unreadable and stony. But when she turned around, instead of the guarded look, she looked red in the face, oddly unsteady, and she didn't look as mad as he'd thought she'd be. Maybe he had imagined her face to be more frosty than it had been back in the entrance hall.

Maybe.

"Look Hermione... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say all of that."

She didn't look like she'd expected an apology. Her face seemed to soften a bit.

"Oh. Well..." She shrugged. Although she was no doubt still angry, she seemed willing enough to forgive him, which was rather odd. He expected more lashing words or a silent shoulder. "I know it must to have been a surprise."

"A _surprise_? You _do_ know who you went with, right?" It had popped out before he could stop it. To be honest, he was still in shock. It was like the Yule Ball never happened but it was all he could think about. To see Hermione, arm tucked into Viktor's Krum's, and walking across the Great Hall to sit up at the Champions table with him. He'd had _no_ idea that Hermione had ever even acknowledged Viktor's presence other than to complain about the noise he brought with him to the library. But to see them together as _dancing partners._ How and when did it even happen? Who approached who? What was Viktor Krum up to? Didn't Hermione see that she was setting herself up for something horrible to happen? Things like that didn't happen. But it did. It _had._

"I might have heard his name once or twice." She seemed to joke at Ron's question. But Ron suddenly wasn't sorry anymore. He was angry and furious. A part of him was hurt and he didn't understand why. How could she joke about it? She'd been talking to him half the night as if they were right old friends!

"Where did you go with him? You didn't come back into the Great Hall. You came back with him - from outside. I didn't see you in the garden."

"I don't really think that's anyone's business except for mine and Viktor's." She said with a blush.

"_Viktor's..._" He repeated in disbelief, unable to comprehend that his friend, _his_ friend, was on a first name basis with Krum. This made him feel really... what was the feeling? It was definitely weird. He felt very protective of her suddenly, or maybe of Krum's image. "Are you crazy? You know who he is, right? I mean, you know where he's from? He's from _Durmstrang_. He could have... " He struggled to think for something, then latched onto what he had just said. That he was from Durmstrang. The thought had never occurred to him before. He'd never thought of Viktor Krum as anything other than a really young Quiddich player with so much talent that he could play for a professional team even while in his final year of school. It had been the most amazing thing to Ron. He imagined the same thing happening to _him_, while secretly knowing it would never happen. But this was personal. Suddenly his idol was transforming into a black ghoulish creature with a black hood and bad intentions. "He could have put the Imperious curse on you... you could be following his directions... gathering information on Harry and -"

"More conspiracy theories, Ron?"

"If Krum hadn't asked you to go to the dance, would you have gone with Neville?" He blurted out, not knowing where it came from.

She replied instantly. "Yes. And if I had been asked first, and _properly_, I would have gone with _you_."

"Right. Ok." He retorted in disbelief. "Would you have dressed up like... _that_?"

Hermione seemed to take a moment to let his question sink in. It appeared to occur to her that it was insulting. She asked crossly, "Like what?"

"Like, like nice. The way you do." He wasn't sure if that sentence had made sense, but he'd replied quickly because he could feel the danger. Granger Danger; the kind that was somehow more frightening when your opponent was so much more knowledgeable and could pull facts out quicker than a quill from a pocket.

"I would have dressed up nicely if I had gone with Neville, or if I had gone with you, or if I had gone with a mountain troll. I dressed up for _me. To feel pretty, to feel like a girl... because apparently this is a great shock to everyone."_

"Of course you're a girl! I know you're a girl. I mean, I didn't think you weren't a girl or anything." There he was, stuttering and stumbling. This always marked the downhill end of the arguments. Arguments were easier with guys. Arguments with girls were horrifying. But still, Ron was flabbergasted. "But... But how could he have asked you? Why? You don't even like Quiddich... You could barely follow along at the World Cup."

She said angrily. "No, you're right, Ron. You're right. What could anyone possibly see in _me_ except for the answers for tomorrow's homework? What do I have to offer anyone?"

"No - I don't mean that. What-What's in it for you? Just because he's famous doesn't mean you should lose your head over him."

"Lose my head, do I? Go after anyone just 'cause they're famous? Oh yes, that's _exactly_ how I am. I just couldn't get the _famous_ Harry Potter to date me. Oh you KNOW how I've been chasing _him _so now I'm working on Viktor Krum. If Viktor Krum won't have me then I'll find someone else. Dumbledore's famous, isn't he? Then he's next on my list. You know me so well! Why don't you go skip off to Rita Skeeter and write a book about me?! I'm sure you two will can come up with some really good fairy tales. If that doesn't work, why don't you just write your own book? I'll help you spell-check if you ask real nicely." She was furious, like a cat whose tail had been stomped on. She grabbed her head, "Oooooh, you give me such a headache Ron. You think this has the world to do with you, but it doesn't."

"I just - I just don't think it was a good idea to go off - to go out with - to go to the dance with him."

"Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?"

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"

"Well - that just proves - completely missed the point -"

* * *

Hermione went up to her dormitory and flopped onto the bed. She didn't care that Crookshanks had done exactly as she predicted and rumpled her sheets and covers. She didn't care that all the candy was strewn across the floor - She'd get it tomorrow. She didn't care that, other than her shoes that she kicked off, she laid in bed in her dress and hair done up while the other girls were giggling and undressing. She only cared that as her swarmy brain was somewhat resurfacing from the haze, and Ron's words were sinking away, that she had experienced her first kiss with someone she now acknowledged to be someone much greater than any wizard she'd ever met before. Regardless of everything that had gone wrong today, Viktor's kiss had been the only thing she was positive had been right.


	7. Green With?

Author's notes: I just have to say I absolutely love you guys! A lot of you have expressed a worry that I might abandon this story or stop updating. I know it's been forever but that's just not the case. I know what it's like to be into a story and then never seeing it updated again. I won't do that to you. I'm pretty sure you've heard that before but you'll just have to trust me (muhuhaha~).

This chapter has been tough. I could go into a list of excuses, but I refuse. Just know that I won't be giving up and I know where I'm going with this. There have been several comments that just amaze me, and I can't say how glad I am for them.

You all are great, and I hope that even if the story doesn't go in just the way you want it to, that it's at least going to be something I am proud of and will be happy to have my name on it. I am still learning about this site after not being here for so long. I am happy that the community is going strong and being sweet.

As always, thank you for sticking with me! I'll try harder to be more punctual because I'm honestly afraid I'll be murdered in my sleep if I don't update sooner! Read and review, thanks!

* * *

Hermione flung an opened package of tarts, of the chocolate-orange variety, onto one of the long narrow working tables out in the Gryffindor common room. It slid across the table to stop between two hunched over figures. Fred and George sat over long scrolls of parchment and, dare one admit, actual academic textbooks.

Upon seeing the crumpled plastic around the box, the pair looked simultaneously up, only to collide with thinly-veiled anger. It was manifesting in front of them in the form of a teenage girl, whose hair was a brown mass of fuzz around her head that almost looked like a ball of fire. One lone chunk of hair still spiraled elegantly in front of her face from the knot she'd sported at the Yule ball the night before. She stood several feet from them, close enough to peer condescendingly down at them, but far enough out of reach to be clear if say, a small explosion spontaneously combusted. Knowing Fred and George, that was always a possibility.

Hermione's arms were crossed. Her fingers were continuously jumping up, falling back down, then proceeding to clamp and squeeze hard on the flesh before her elbow. Her nails would have been dragging into skin if a long-sleeved shirt hadn't been there to impede them. In fact, there was no way of knowing that there weren't crescent-shaped indention appearing. But before either of the twins could pull from thin air some witty comment or two on the health of bottled anger, Hermione asked stiffly, "They make you drunk, don't they?"

No, in retrospect, that had been more of a statement masquerading as a question. There had been a slight inflection at the end, but the eyes weren't wondering or questioning. They were boring holes.

But honestly, who had ever scolded the twins and managed to succeed in making them feel the slightest bit of remorse for their actions?

No one, that's who.

The fact that the female-version of Percy was interrupting their school work, their holiday mountain of school work, appeared to mean nothing to her. They really were treading dangerously now. The twins eyed her as if to gauge how highly explosive she could possibly be, then rewarded her with matching grins and an echoed "Happy Holidays!"

It was amazing how they could do that. Amazing but, nevertheless, it didn't amuse Hermione from her inquisition or creep her out enough to halt her persistence.

They'd have to try harder.

"The Canary cremes are harmless - but_ these_?" Fred kissed his fingers as if he'd been a prominent house elf chef in his previous life. "Genius! Still trying to come up with a name, though."

"There's also a very mild truth-serum mixed in. That was my little touch." George boasted with a mock-modest grin. "Gives you the urge to be a bit more chatty."

Hermione's lips formed a thin line.

"How many did you eat?" It was apparent that George was trying a little harder than Fred to not be too obvious in his excitement; he was hardly succeeding.

"You can count." Her fingers flew in the air and plummeted to her arm once more. She wouldn't let them woo her into a false sense of joviality. She was going to scold them into submission without interruption. Or so she thought.

"Ouch. Feisty, aren't we?" Fred pulled back the plastic wrapper. "We're just surrounded by bright little rays of sunshine today."

George asked, "Only two, then?"

"At the same time?" Fred prodded.

A confirmation in the affirmative was gifted to them by the clenching in Hermione's jaw. Her cheek twitched. Fingers were digging into her arm harder now.

And to Hermione's surprise, Fred sighed and ran a hand over his face while his body slumped like pudding into his seat. "I can't believe we didn't get to see - _completely sloshed_." There was a moment of hesitation. "The stack-up effect..." If it were possible, Fred seemed even more disappointed. "I'd have payed to see that."

George picked up the box and offered her a tart. "Fancy having one more? Two? _Three_? Extra Christmas present to us, whatcha' say?"

Hermione wanted to slap the box of festive tarts from his offending hand but remained still. She didn't trust herself to move towards them. She'd made sure to leave her wand on her side-dresser as an added precaution, but that had only been a generous gesture on her part.

It was wasted on them.

How could she explain that she'd hexed two fellow Gryffindors into paste because they'd gotten her completely, mind-numbingly drunk as an _experiment_?

It genuinely bothered Hermione that she couldn't possibly ever know how many spiked Christmas tarts were now floating around in large batches about the common room.

Worse, how was she going to explain to Viktor about last night? Why she'd behaved like... well... like some kind of tart. Some kind of chocolate-orange holiday tramp. _She_ was the one who wanted to squish herself into a ball and hide away.

Hermione felt no remorse while she systematically crushed their hopes for a guinea pig with a very firm, "No."

The twins just couldn't catch a break that year. If it wasn't retired old Quidditch has-beens eluding their every strategy to cough up their rightful winnings, or their mother constantly breathing down their necks over their studies, it was a fourth year goody-two shoes, Ronnie's little friend, continuously pestering them over this and that. 'Don't step over the age-line and enter your names into the Triwizard cup for a chance for eternal glory - don't put alcohol in Christmas gifts and use friends as guinea pigs for product testing - don't go off and blackmail prominent members of the ministry!' Oh wait. That was still in progress...

"Pity. We still need to figure out how fast it kicks in."

"It comes over so gradually..." George agreed.

"I end up drunk before I can tell. We've yet to nab the time."

"I still think it's different for each person."

"No hangovers, that's a perk, right? Figured out the trick for that. _Eventually_."

"Had to, really. Can't keep going to class with a hangover, can you?"

"Too many questions..."

"As much as I hate to interrupt your list of accomplishments," Hermione interjected,"I'm only going to tell you this once." She stepped closer to them. "If you two ever, _ever_ so much as get a _crumb_ of any magically altered... _anything_ near me, I'll hex you so hard you won't be able to... to..." She hadn't really thought what she was going to say. She assumed she would be angry enough it would just roll out.

Fred batted his eyelashes. "Oh, _you. _Go on_._"

"Threats?" George said, looking surprisingly enough a bit shocked, "Did something happen with Viktor Krum?" Rather than the typical Weasley look of shiftiness there was a crease at the corner of his lips.

"How -" And she cut herself off. She looked between the two of them. Her shoulders raised up slightly.

Fred just leaned on his hand and yawned. "Ron mutters darkly this morning." He shrugged in the direction of the large fireplace across the room where Ron sat, his back to them. He was far enough from them that Hermione was confident he couldn't have overheard, but she still sent a thankful silent release of gratitude into the air with an output of breath.

Fred looked to George and then to Hermione. "You know, if he did do something-" Fred looked hopeful.

"-or does-" George quipped in, more serious than his counterpart.

"-say the word. We have a few items we still need to test out."

Hermione wished her body would just follow her brain instead of her girlish sentiments just once. It would at least let her know that she was still working properly because for the past few weeks... She closed her eyes to clear her head. She tried not to stumble on her words. She breathed in tightly, chest swelling, and paused before saying with a strained voice, "Just - no more tarts. Okay? _Please_? Can you do that for me?"

George looked in a bit of an ill-temper now, but no agreement seemed to be necessary.

They watched the inner turmoil while Hermione looked towards the fireplace and couch where Ron sat, stepped in its direction still flushed in the face, and hesitated. She looked back to the twins, who shook their heads in warning, towards Ron again, then turned on her heel and trudged off to the portrait hole. "Well, I'm going to the library!" She shouted over her shoulder.

"Good 'ol Hermione." Fred yawned and scratched the back of his neck. "Rain, snow, sleet, apocalypse - or just mild irritation - to the library she'll go without fail."

George just grunted and returned to his essay.

* * *

If George had seemed put off that morning, nothing could rival the "dark mutterings" from Ron. At first he ruled over the couch in front of the fireplace. No one, save for Harry, was brave enough, or bothered enough, to approach him. Harry settled himself down and asked if Ron wanted to play some Wizarding chess. Harry was surprised to get a derisive shake of the head. Harry was usually the one relenting to 'go a few rounds'. He shrugged and went off to breakfast. Ron followed shortly after, but was no spring flower even with food in his belly.

Ginny came up to the Gryffindor table, drew up a plate, and asked if something was wrong with the food as she eyed her brother. Ron stabbed a chunk of ham with his fork. Harry answered with a shake of his head.

Ginny put a stop to the pantomime communication. "Where's Hermione?" She asked as she piled some of the Christmas feast leftovers onto her plate. She knew neither Harry nor Ron had encountered a great evening at the ball last night, but it wasn't much of an excuse to refuse to talk. _She_ hadn't done anything at the very least.

"Library." Ron said stiffly.

"Mmm..." Ginny said with her closed mouth full of food. She turned her head to look towards the Slytherin table as she chewed.

Ron grumbled, "No doubt _he's_ at the library, too."

"You don't know that." Harry said.

Ron stared at Harry. Harry pushed food into his mouth and shrugged his shoulders, "Well, you don't. He might be sleeping in or something. They don't all eat their meals in the Great Hall."

"We'll see." Ron said and stabbed another chunk of food disinterestedly.

There was a moment of silence between them, verging on the awkward. Ginny raised her eyebrow in her brother's direction, swallowed her food, and wryly said, "Well _I'm_ happy for her. You should have seen how angry some of the seventh year girls were - no doubt the Krum club is pissed. Literally, one girl broke out into tears when Hermione and Krum came through the doors last night, you know, when all the Champions were walking in. I don't think I've ever seen a grown girl cry like that before. It was just instant." She snapped her fingers. "Like that! Really - Hermione might have to watch out. That's some true dedication right there... or obsession-"

Ron seemed to latch onto something. "Exactly!" He pointed his finger out, waggling it at Ginny, who was finding it a difficult thing to lower her eyebrow and remove the expression of 'What the hell is wrong with you?' from her face. "Exactly! It can't be safe for her now - going out with Krum - well, they'll harass her won't they? And he's famous - in the papers all the time - every'll know-"

"So?" Ginny asked, face now completely washed over with skepticism and a haze of suspicion. There was a mild bit of temper in her tone, too. "Everyone pretty much already knows thanks to you. Half the room was watching you yell at her. That Hufflepuff girl broke into tears again when Krum followed after Hermione."

"He didn't follow after her, did he?" Harry asked.

"Where else could he have gone?" Ginny replied.

At this new snippet of information, Ron lapsed back into silence and glowered. His scrambled eggs were heading in the direction of decimation. Ginny rolled her eyes and reached out for several pieces of toast. She buttered, cinnamon'd, and jammed each one a different flavor before standing up from the table and leaving her plate full of food. "See ya, Harry. Call me when Ron's done crying in the toilets with Moaning Myrtle."

Harry hid his smile behind his arm and looked over his shoulder towards the nearly empty Slytherin table. None of the Durmstrang were around and there was no sign of Viktor Krum. Harry _did_ think the Durmstrang Champion was more than likely to be in the library, but that was the last thing he would admit out loud in front of Ron.

* * *

Hermione tried to think of a good introductory sentence to best guide her way into explaining what had happened last night. The way she'd come onto Viktor had definitely been a little overbearing. Hermione wanted to bang her head on a wall. 'A LITTLE overbearing?!' her brain hissed. 'You kissed him TWICE!'

Viktor had performed amazingly. He hadn't made a big deal of it. He'd even escorted her inside - but he had been quiet, and he had been stiff. His easiness with conversation, their amusing volley of verbal wit had been repeatedly and thoughtlessly stabbed each time that she'd opened her big mouth. It'd all been against her nature, against her judgement... maybe not against her _wishes_... But she had to explain it to him. She abhorred the slightest possibility that Viktor might place her into a category next to his screaming fan girls. She was better than that. She wasn't a thoughtless bimbo, or some kind of incredible flirt... but as she rounded the corner of a bookcase to her usual table, she was beginning to think she _was_ a fool without the capability to use prior thought.

She hadn't thought that perhaps Viktor would beat her to the library, despite her late awakening. And wouldn't you know it, he had. Absorbed in a magazine, a Quidditch one by the looks of it, her automatic reaction was to announce her presence with a stuttered "M-morning!" Bad idea. WHAT was going on with her? Did all that time-turning from third year use up all her brain-power? The only place she could go from there was forward. No time turner to get her out of this one.

Viktor stood up abruptly. "Good morning."

All resolutions dashed to the floor at her feet. She wrung her hands and a nervous and awkward moment launched itself between them. Hermione couldn't think of a thing to say and Viktor looked down at the table, beginning to roll the magazine in his large hands.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"No, not very." He said. The silence reigned supreme.

Hermione prayed for a coherent thought to come into her brain. She had to tear her eyes from his face, because looking at it made her instinctively trail to the mouth whose lips had covered hers, and vice versa, not twenty-four hours ago.

"Are you feeling in good health today?" He finally asked, picking up the slack and glancing at her.

"Oh yes." Was all she could manage. "I feel much better."

"That is good. I am surprised, you did not haff a headache?"

"Not at all." Hermione assured him. Another long silence paraded itself between them. It was her chance to say something. No one was in the library except for the librarian, who sat nested in her perch at the front desk. It was so quiet that Hermione could hear Madam Pince stamping books several rows from them.

"Listen - I vas vondering if you vould help me with a project."

"A project?" She asked in a rush. A warmth came over her that quelled her anxiety. She had thought that Viktor was going to talk about last night. She was relieved he hadn't, but felt her relief to be a bit of a cop out. Wasn't that shying away from her true objective? She couldn't possibly interrupt him now, right? That was a logical thought. In the first place, it would be rude. Right? _Right?_

'They should have put you in Slytherin,' A voice hissed in her head. 'You're just sliding away like a frightened snake!'

Viktor picked up a folder that she hadn't noticed before. It wasn't unusual; her observational powers weren't very exceptional lately. He opened it, made a slight motion that he would like her to look as he held the folder between them, and sat back in the chair. Hermione, curious and desirous of a distraction, angled her head to see better when she took the chair next to him.

"I haff a friend in a broom-making company who is going to make me a custom broom. I haff been vorking on it for months, vhen I haff time, in between trying out different prototypes. I thought I vould finish it vhile I vas here but I only know the general shape I vant."

At once all the embarrassment and awkwardness vanished from the two. Hermione's interest had been piqued while she tried to decifer the squished handwriting. It did look like Viktor's penmanship, but at least the sample she'd gotten in letters had been legible. This, not so much.

Hermione looked at the drawings she presumed Viktor had drawn. They were cramped and very crude but Hermione didn't think she could do much better.

"I can't draw." She started.

Viktor laughed without being able to help it. "No, vhat I am asking is... There are many... variables? - is that the right vord? -to design something like this... If I explain each, er - thing,"

"Variable's the right word." Hermione confirmed, "But I couldn't possibly give an opinion on it - I don't know anything about broomsticks..."

"Vell... I vould prefer the opinion from somevun vho does not know very much about brooms. I haff infinite options - I vant to think outside of the box. I can make anything I vant and I only haff a few conditions I vill vant to keep. My friend vill not haff all the time in the vorld to help me, I do not vunt to force more favors from him. I vant to get the broom as close to perfect before I give him the design."

"Wouldn't you be able to get as many prototypes as you'd want if you were testing out brooms?"

"Vell..." Viktor looked a bit secretive, but after a moment of what seemed to be quick contemplation, he lowered his voice. "I signed a contract vith the company to test the new prototypes they are making. They haff nothing to do vith my designs. My friend is doing it free of charge. My broom vill be the only vun of it's kind, fitted to vhat I vant - he can - uh, put the company logo on and it approve it - I can use it officially for Quidditch games."

Hermione lowered her voice and leaned in. "Isn't that cheating?"

"Eh - no. The make of the broom vill be different, it vill be custom to my body, but it vill not have any thing out of the ordinary from the brooms already on the market. An altered broom vould not pass the check before the games. Like I said, it is design only. It has alvays been something I vanted to do, but it is something very expensive. This is my chance."

Hermione bit on her thumb thinking hard before she committed to something as important as this, but the allure of it all had already captivated her. To think that something she helped create would actually be out in the wizarding world, in practical use and in existence... with even some slight difference that she had influenced; it was exciting. How could she _not_ feel compelled?

"I would like to do a bit of research before I did, but-" She cracked a smile she couldn't help, "I'm definitely the right person if you want someone who knows absolutely nothing about brooms."

Viktor leaned back into the chair, legs crossed at the feet. The both of them had turned to each other in their conversation, unaware of how suspicious it might have looked that they were whispering close to each other in an empty room. But that was one good thing about empty rooms: they didn't have people there to judge them.

"Brooms are not as complex as you make them seem."

Hermione scoffed.

"They are not!" He said. "I can not put it into any other vords vhy I am asking - assuming you vill help, that is -"

"Of course I will!" If Hermione hadn't already agreed, the look on Viktor's face would have made the choice for her. His face had split into a grin as soon as she had confirmed. His expression looked then, when he looked a bit shyly down to the table at his side, incomprehensibly happy.

"You really vant to? It vill take a considerable amount of time... I do not vant to take up your holiday break..."

"I want to, if you'll let me! You'll have to tell me when I'm talking nonsense, I probably won't make any sense at all." Seeing his hesitation, she continued. "You've given me something to do instead of reread books in my dorm or do all the work for people who refuse to do their work on time." Hermione was getting that intense desire to start pulling books down from the shelves around them. "But you were saying?"

"Ah - just that... how to explain... somevun that knows everything about brooms thinks in a... very limited view. They base their opinions off every single broom they haff seen, not a broom that could be... better. Something new."

Hermione smiled playfully. "Where I come from brooms are for sweeping floors. There's a limited view for you."

Instantly, Viktor looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "I still can not believe that muggles do that vith brooms!"

"You know, Viktor," Hermione said informatively, and began standing up to go acquire some books, "brooms were made for sweeping before you lot began flying on them!"

Viktor made a sound of pain.

By the time they collected enough books from the abysmally small Quidditch section to content Hermione, she'd forgotten to mention anything about last night. A nagging reminder popped up in the middle of perusing a large encyclopedia. Hermione silently chanced a quick observation at Viktor who sat poring over a book to her right. If yesterday had bothered him, it wasn't showing. Hermione didn't want to bring up another awkward moment between their comfortable silence. If he'd thought she wasn't worth talking to he wouldn't have asked her to help with his project, would he? And if Hermione was going to be completely honest with herself, she wasn't sorry on behalf of any kiss she'd given or received. She just hoped next time - Hermione pushed those thoughts away. What was going to come after _next time?_ Who said there was going to be a next time?

Just then, Hermione spied the scarf she'd given Viktor folded neatly on the corner of the table by his elbow. A very personal twinge of happiness surged through her and she turned back to her book with a hidden smile on her face. No, she wouldn't bring up last night. Viktor knew she wasn't some obsessed girl from the Krum club. He could tell her apart from the girls that hid behind bookshelves to chance a peek at him. Yes, she was content. She wouldn't bring it up and embarrass them... well, except for one thing.

* * *

Viktor was confused as to why Hermione warned Viktor to avoid any tart offered to him in the castle, but she said it so authoritively that he didn't feel the justification to question her.

* * *

Ron and Harry did finally manage to play some Wizarding chess after Harry prodded for a bit. It was while Harry began to fail rather miserably playing against himself that Ron grudgingly conceded and joined in. It took his mind off things. For awhile, maybe an hour or so, Ron was able to forget everything about yesterday. He was explaining a tactic to Harry when a loud thud knocked him from his concentration on the game. The thump! had been a stack of books, half a dozen or so, smacked onto the table. Behind the books Hermione emerged and hopped up onto the wooden surface. She put her elbow on the books, looked at the chess board in mild interest, then squared her shoulders at the two of them meaningfully.

They knew what was coming.

"Here's the deal." She started. That tone of voice was unmistakable. It had been homing onto them for the last three years in earnest, cornering them into their chairs to start their work, or... attempting to at the very least.

"Spare us the lecture." Ron groaned, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. When he looked back at Hermione's face, her arms were crossed as well and he lowered his gaze to avoid her pointed look. The face she gave him told him clearly that she hadn't forgotten last night. The curve of her lips and the deep crease at the corner of her mouth was only something she did when she was on a very thin line, but was making the attempt to make nice. They'd been painfully polite all morning, and that was only if Ron bothered to reply to her. NOT that he had the chance when she was stuffed in the library all day.

As Ron's eyes traveled downwards they rested on a bare length of skin that he hadn't anticipated. Hermione's leg, nearest to them, was hiked up on the table while the other dangled to the ground, not quite reaching the floor. Her skirt was up high on her thigh, and while not wholly improper, gave Ron an eye-full of the view above her knees. Hermione hadn't an inkling of her wardrobe slip because she took a deep breath and spoke sternly. "The deal is this: Do one assignment a day. I'll help you guys out whenever you need it. I'll even lend you my notes..."

It wasn't much really. It wasn't like he could see the dip above her upper thigh, which was where things got really racy. In fact, there wasn't much of a dip to be had, if he was going to be completely honest in his past recollections.

"... I don't care how much you beg and plead, I won't help. If you just do one assignment, you'll have New Years free to do what you want, then the last assignment on Sunday..."

It's not like he'd never noticed. He knew that she didn't have wide hips or much in the way of a... well, an arse. From all the times they'd been pressed up between the invisibility cloak, or when they had to move quickly and get out of the way when it was imperative to not get caught; there'd been the times he'd grabbed her round the middle. She was rather ungraceful. Between the three of them she was the toe-trodder. But he just hadn't thought about it. Subconsciously he'd noted it, but...

"... you'll be done! No rushing around last minute. No stress! You'll actually be able to sleep... _I'll_ be able to sleep..."

The Hogwarts' skirts never did the girls justice. The skirts were just set at that certain height, never changing, hanging past the knees. Knees weren't really that interesting. If you doubled up with the skirt and the knee-high socks then there was just the three or four inches of leg and that was it. The taller a girl got, the more unyielding the skirt was. Only a few girls who wore their old skirts, if they still fit around the middle, could get that right height. And Ron could swear the halls of Hogwarts would just magically lengthen the skirts again. A guy never caught a break.

Ron looked up when he heard his name being called. It was Hermione. She had a weird look on her face, Ron couldn't tell what the hell it meant.

"Huh? What?"

"I was asking if that's okay?"

Oh. Of course. It was the look of 'You weren't listening to me, were you? But I'm trying to be nice so instead of being mad I'm at a cross-roads of emotions that make no flying sense put together.'

Ron agreed, but didn't know what he was agreeing to.

"Yup. Sounds good." He gave a smile, felt rather guilty- but not that guilty; he was still rather mad with her, and uncrossed his arms to lean around the chessboard again.

Then Harry spoke up. "Oh, Hermione, listen."

"Oh yeah!" Ron exclaimed as Harry recounted what they'd overheard Hagrid confiding to Madam Maxime; about Hagrid being a half-giant.

"Well, I thought he must be," she said calmly. Just then Crookshanks, who had been prowling out of the dormitory, jumped up on the table and nearly collided into the on-going chess match. Hermione took the furry orange ball around the waist and ushered an apology while she pulled him into her lap. "I knew he couldn't be pure giant because they're about twenty feet tall, aren't they?"

Ron couldn't continue the conversation; he kept his mouth clamped shut as Hermione went on to exclaim blindly that all giants couldn't be as bad as she'd heard. Really, she was like Hagrid, giving every horrible monster and 'misunderstood' creature the benefit of the doubt when it had just finished up swallowing your own grandmother.

Which reminded Ron of another thing that had happened last night."Don't forget about Snape and Karkaroff, too... We heard them talking... about something getting clearer and him wanting to run off."

"Oh yeah, and Snape told Karkaroff that he could run off if he wanted to, that he would make some excuse for him..." Harry said darkly.

"Typical, for the headmaster of Durmstrang to be friends with Snape." Ron gave Hermione a pointed look.

"They aren't friends, _really_, are they?" Hermione cut in, scratching Crookshanks in his weak spot - right under his chin. "I can't really say anything for Karkaroff," Hermione trailed off, thinking of that look Viktor's headmaster had given her when she'd showed up on Viktor's arm for the ball, "But he can't have done anything too bad if he's the headmaster of a well-known school like Durmstrang and a judge for the tournament. And Durmstrang isn't as bad as you'd think. They learn the dark arts, but only as a precaution, so they know when they see it. It's just a different approach than what Hogwarts does. Hasn't stopped Hogwarts from producing a bunch of dark wizards, has it?"

Ron shook his head but didn't say a word. Harry didn't seem in the mood to argue against it either, as the portion they'd overheard in the gardens hadn't been concrete enough to walk on, never mind argue over. And an argument with Hermione, THIS early? No thanks.

Hermione slid down from the table. "Guess I'll leave you to it. Go on, Crookshanks." She tossed the cat onto the floor and brushed off the cat hair from her skirt.

Ron and Harry turned back to their game. Ron didn't have to ask where Hermione was off to. She was out of the portrait hole and gone before Ron regained his bearings. "What was I talking about again? Oh right -" And Ron subsequently lost the next game against Harry's newly learned tactic.

* * *

By Wednesday Viktor and Hermione had made a good bit of progress. Monday and Tuesday had been a sort of introduction to brooms and Hermione had insisted on looking over old designs of the earliest brooms ever made. She apologized repeatedly in an embarrassed sort of way to him that she was getting sidetracked but found the earliest designs rather interesting. She promised him she wouldn't learn _too _much, so her opinion would still be misguided and uninformed, as he'd asked.

Viktor shook his head with a smile plastered on his face.

She'd been amazed at how far transport brooms had gone back, and it made him amused that she seemed so absorbed in the history of them. Viktor hadn't much to say on the earlier designs other than to silently laugh at their simplicity, but the closer she got in her self-study to the current makes, the more he could explain specific details to her. When Hermione, completely overwhelmed at the information, paused and exclaimed, "Why did I even bother getting these books?", Viktor felt a sort of pride well up inside him from the impressed look on her face.

He was also silently happy with how well things were going on. At first he'd thought the anxiousness would rule over them, but it hadn't. The library was her domain, and in it she relaxed.

Their hands briefly touched when they were organizing a large bit of parchment and an ink well, in which Viktor noted Hermione's hand jumped back and the ink bottle toppled over on it's side. They both rushed to right it, but it hadn't been needed. Not a drop had fallen out of the open bottle.

She laughed in a way that sounded a bit choked. But Viktor wasn't paying as much attention to what she was saying as to her body language. She was red in the cheeks and before she had corrected the bottle, she'd drawn up and held the touched hand with her other. Her shoulders had drawn up, too, and the hair clip, which had been yellow, was then green.

Viktor, a bit put out at her instant reaction to pull away, dismissed his initial conclusion when she avoided eye-contact with him and blushed. It was a girlish motion, but it had kindled a flame of hope that since Monday had been smothered to a dim fire. She hadn't mentioned Christmas, she hadn't mentioned the kiss... It was like they'd gained a step and had been tossed back two.

Partially to ease her and partially because he wanted to know what she'd felt, he asked, "Vhat does green mean?"

"What?" If he hadn't been mistaken, she had looked away instantly. Like she was pretending not to know what he was talking about. If anything, her face had gotten even redder.

"You are vearing the - hair thing. It is green. Dark green."

He watched her put her hand up to her hair for a moment as if to check the color by touch.

She laughed dismissively. "I-I haven't memorized all the colours yet." She seemed to hurry on. "I forgot I was wearing it. It's very comfortable... I never realized how often my hair got in my way." She looked intent to change the subject. She sat back down and flattened out the parchment in front of them. "I'm really glad I brought my new ink bottle. It's unspillable, it won't spill on anything you wouldn't want it to. Isn't that amazing? I'm glad the parchment wasn't right under it or there'd be a huge mess. Where were we?"

Viktor sat back down, too, and took a paper from his folder. "About to go over notes, I think." And he was doing more thinking than just on brooms. Her face was still a pinkish hue but the green on the hair clip was fading from a dark green to an irish green. Viktor went over the few variables he didn't want to change. It wasn't new information to him, so while her eyebrows were scrunched up in concentration, and she nodded as she wrote down a few notes, he checked her hair. It was back to yellow now. Yellow seemed to be her focusing.

She was flipping through some pages in a book she'd dragged in front of her. "Thought I saw something in here on wind resistance before."

In a move very unlike himself, Viktor scooted his chair next to hers and leaned towards her to put his arm over hers. He began flipping pages. "I haff read it before." His foot pushed next to hers and almost instantly she seemed to straighten up and sit stiffly in her chair The curiosity had been biting at him. He leaned away from her when he'd found the chapter. The hair clip was back to green. Her face was that furious red colour again. "Thank you..." She mumbled, wriggled in her seat, and sat staring at the book, eyes unmoving. Suddenly she stood up, "I remember, just now, I saw a book in the Quidditch section that would help with this. I'll be right back."

Viktor watched her go. Was green embarrassment?

When Hermione came back, several minutes later, she brought a smile and incessant talk with her. "Couldn't find the book I was looking for. By the way, did you hear about the New Year's feast this Saturday? We normally never have anything special on New Years here, 'least not that I know of. I guess it's because the other schools are here and a lot of people stayed for the Yule ball, but there's going to be a feast in the Great Hall at midnight."

Viktor didn't know what to make of it. He really should have looked at the colours before he'd given her that present.

* * *

By Friday, sick from trying to finish Thursday's Charms worksheet, Ron began to brood over the excessive amount of time that Hermione had been soaking into the library. If she'd been in the common room they'd have finished their work hours ago.

"It's not anymore time than she usually spends in the library." Harry noted when Ron uttered his thoughts out loud. Ron silently acknowledged this statement as truth. But that wasn't it... It was _what_ she was doing in the library so often now that was the problem. And the problem was that he didn't know what that _what_ was.

No doubt she'd done all her homework within minutes of the holiday starting. She wasn't doing homework in there. And what in the world could they possibly be doing if it wasn't homework? Viktor Krum didn't have homework. Hermione didn't have homework. The only ones who had homework were him, Harry, and almost every other student out in the Gryffindor common room.

Ron was suspicious. He hadn't _really_ thought Hermione would help Viktor Krum with the egg and the second task. If she was going to be putting her nose in a book, it would be a load more help if she was trying to help out with Harry's golden egg. What were they doing in the library all the time?

Another thought occurred.

They might not even be in the library at all, Ron thought. That guy didn't seem to have a problem carting Hermione off this way and that. What if Hermione was just telling Harry and him that she was in the library and they were really going off somewhere else?

Hermione wasn't the secretive sort but she hadn't communicated with them very well after the Yule Ball, either. Hell, she'd been distant before that, too. Harry looked at Ron but decided not to ask what he was glowering about.

Ever since the Yule Ball she'd been this way and that, but never in the common room. She came down from the girl's dorm, ate, when to the library, ate, went to the library again, ate, and went to the library before going up to her dorm for either an early or late night. Harry had stopped trying to catch her attention for the questions he'd been saving to ask when they caught her. There _was_ no catching her.

Ron jabbed his quill up and down at the edge of Hermione's notes. He looked at the parchment but wasn't really reading them. Her cursive reflected in his eyes for several minutes before he came up with an idea that had him giving Harry some rubbish about getting more notes from Hermione, exiting the portrait hole, and descending to the third floor and trying not to look too conspicuous walking down the library corridor. He usually walked that corridor to drag Hermione out of the library not sneak in to watch her. But so it was.

Hermione's usual table was the one closest to the doors, around three rows of bookshelves. From the stone wall to the third bookcase their table had by far the biggest blind spot. That was good for him, because the library door was located in that blind spot, and Ron, as casually as he could, headed straight behind the long row of books in the second row. He didn't want to get too close. He began by pretending to be interested in a few books before he reached the perfect spot.

There were a few people in the library, but so far none were really in the way aside from two older girls a bit further down the same row. Ron picked up _You and Your Owl_, and turning in the spot to look behind him, was met with the shelf of books at his exact eye-line. Ron didn't bother to try and hide the fact that he was looking through the gaps between the shelves, but he leaned against the bookcase and lowered his level of vision so that if someone did come around the corner and spot him, or if the old librarian snooped around to see what he was doing - more like make sure he didn't shove a book into any old spot as he was prone to do - it wouldn't be too obvious that he was trying to catch a glimpse of Hermione and Krum.

The two of them were seated side by side, faces towards the bookshelf Ron was peering through. Ron could have sworn that Hermione had always sat on the other side, her back towards where he was standing, but for this instance, Ron was glad to have a good view of them without having to sneak across the open field across the room.

There was a soft thud and a hushing noise down the row that made Ron jump. He noticed the two girls again. They were closer than before and were holding books between them, talking in hushed whispers. Ron leaned back on the shelf again.

The two of them were sitting there cosily enough. They talked amongst themselves, Hermione more than Krum, but occasionally Krum's mouth opened to speak. Even from the distance Ron noted that Krum wasn't talking as much. But there was one thing he was doing significantly more than Hermione, and that was looking at her. Especially when Hermione seemed to be engrossed in a book, mouth still, Krum's eyes glanced over. His face didn't move an inch, but his eyes would dart back to the book under his arm if Hermione opened her mouth or made any sort of movement. This happened multiple times in a matter of minutes.

Ron felt he could get a better view further down the row, about where those girls were still talking. They had yellow ties - Hufflepuffs. Where they were would be the perfect spot to get a closer view of Krum. Ron shoved the book he'd been pretending to read onto the shelf then put his hands in his pockets. He strolled down the row a few meters, feigned interest in the books on the other side of the girls, who seemed to close in further together when he hovered there. They had stopped talking. Ron refused to move, grabbed a new book, _How to Tame Tigers,_ and stood there until the girls moved away - just barely. He thought he saw one of them give him a glare.

He yawned, shoved the book onto the shelf, clearly unaffected that he was putting books back in the wrong spots. Ron felt eyes on him, but when he looked at the girls their heads flew back to their own books. Ron, feeling paranoid, raised his arms in the air and yawned again. He leaned onto the shelf, grabbed a book from the bottom, and pretended to be reading in a somewhat bent position. His eyes darted up from the book in estimated lapses of time where he could see from his peripheral vision that the girls weren't looking at him.

He'd been right, this was an even better position. It gave him a clear shot to Krum.

His hair wasn't stringy, but it was lank. It was neither short nor long. It might have been considered 'shaggy'. His eyes were small, almost beady. There was the typical scowl on his face, and his nose seemed to dominate, crooked in two places. A disjointed bumpy scar, broken in the middle, angled off on each side of nose. It gave it some distinction. All in all, he looked just like his posters, just like the figurine that lay still under Ron's bed in pieces. And Ron's feelings were mixed between a deep respect and a strange inner loathing. But the more that Ron watched the two of them talk, heard the sound of Hermione burst out into laughter at something he said, the more his attention veered towards Hermione. Her hair was pulled back from her face in some kind of half-pony tail held together by a rather flashy hair thing. He hadn't thought much about it, but when he noticed that same pattern on what Ron realized now was a scarf folded on the edge of the table, he made the connection with the tiny scarves scattered around common room. It looked a lot like the ones Hermione made for S.P.E.W. He then racked his brain trying to think if she'd ever worn a hair clip before Christmas.

A sinking feeling in his stomach told him no. She'd never worn her hair up. Had Krum given it to her? Well, maybe someone else had given it to her. Maybe her parents had sent it. Hermione sometimes muttered about her mother buying a bunch of 'useless' crap. Hair clips could be put in that category.

But that didn't explain the scarf. That was absolutely one of Hermione's creations. It was even too wide in one spot; her trademark.

Ron slapped the book onto a row, not even bothering to put it between two random books in the wrong place this time. He put his hands back in his pockets, sauntered around the bookcase, and sidled into the same general place except this time there was only one bookshelf between them and him.

Ron concentrated on Krum.

Krum was looking at Hermione again, but now Viktor was stretching back into his chair, raising his arms above his head. He was still looking at Hermione. It was obvious he had a thing for her. It would take a complete idiot to not notice it. But so what? It had been obvious at the Yule ball, too. He liked her, but that didn't mean anything was going to happen. Hermione cared little for things like that. Her favorite hobbies included reading, doing well in class, and reading some more. Her worst nightmare included getting a B- on a test and forgetting to write her name on her paper. Ron could have sworn she'd been fretting about next year's O.W.L.s not more than two weeks ago.

But then Ron saw it. Hermione had shifted and Viktor resumed his usual slouched position, and when his eyes were glued to the table, Hermione's eyes had averted cautiously to the side to look at him. Her hand had moved to pull back a curl of her hair as if it had been in the way of seeing him.

Ron cleared his mind, forced himself to think more critically. No. No, it was just a look. One look. People looked at each other all the time.

Ron jumped slightly when he heard a voice behind him whisper harshly, "Who does she think she is?!" It was a tinny voice laced with anger.

"She's just a fourth year, Dara." The second voice was more soothing, but it was monotone and bland, peppered with a vigilant sarcasm. "Do you really think he's going to get with her? I mean, think about it..."

Ron had to listen hard to hear what they were saying. In the space of two minutes he learned that Hermione had supposedly learned how to brew an advanced love potion that she continuously kept slipping to Krum when he was unawares. In this mild form of brainwashing she was forcing him, like a puppet, to sit next to her at the library, her known habitat, and keep tabs on him in case there was a lapse in the spell where he could call for help. Of course, she kept him near her to show him off like a prize in front of everyone, too. She was friends with Harry Potter, wasn't she? She couldn't get enough.

Ron felt like an idiot for listening, but at the same time, as the whispers gained more vehemence and Ron had learned a few nasty slurs he hadn't known before, he knew that he'd been right. Hermione was attracting bad attention. Wherever she went with Krum rumors would follow. She wouldn't just be a know-it-all brain anymore, friend of Harry Potter and one of _those Weasleys_. Two seventh year Hufflepuff girls, who usually were a pleasant lot, were starting to sound like replicas of Malfoy. Phrases like 'bushy-haired' were the kindest descriptive words he overheard.

The only thing stopping Ron from going over there and telling them to shove it where the sun didn't shine was the crippling knowledge that if he gave away his position, he might as well just go out and stroll over to their table. And he had no cover story. It would defeat the entire purpose. It was also nearing eight o' clock. You didn't hear Hermione complain about closing time several times a month without ingraining that information in your head - inevitably. Ron wanted to observe just a little bit more before he made his escape. So ignoring the whispers, he moved further down the row out of ear-shot to look at Krum - without the commentary.

Already the holy aura around him was dissipating. Instead of a god on a broomstick, there was just some guy at a table scrunched up in his chair. The logistics side of Ron's brain was pulling Quidditch scores out faster than a snitch could fly, but Ron argued back. No, if you took away the Quidditch, he was a nobody. Well, maybe a Triwizard Champion. Okay, so if you took away the Quidditch and the Triwizard Champion, what did you have? He was a sour looking guy, not nearly as tall as Ron had imagined, and he was a bit of a snob. He wouldn't even get on a broomstick and show off his Wronski Feint. His attitude was bad, he hardly talked to anyone - a voice in his head reminded him, 'Except Hermione.' He pushed the thought out of his head.

So what if Krum liked Hermione? So what if Hermione had looked at him? It meant nothing. Nothing would come of it. When Krum left at the end of the year, when the Triwizard cup was done and over with, Krum would leave. He'd lose interest. It would be over.

With a sinking feeling and a resentfulness towards... everything... Ron realized that he'd never thought he'd look forward to a Quidditch superstar leaving his two-mile radius. He blamed Hermione, but he didn't despise her. He despised Krum.

It would take a little while before Ron admitted that to himself.

* * *

"Oh, is everyone wearing their sweaters, then?" Hermione asked when spotting Ginny in her Weasley sweater with the great big 'G' on the front.

"Think Fred and George are. I am. We've always spent New Years together. Bill and Charlie, too. They stay from Christmas until New Years. Dad'd never work unless he had to. Always cleared their schedules. It just feels like a family sort of thing to me."

Hermione shuffled in her trunk for her own Weasley jumper.

"Did you ever get a fitting for one?" Ginny asked.

"For what?"

"One of mum's sweaters. She just slaps the guys' together. But she was very particular with mine. Said she wanted to measure 'round the top' before she made me one. She makes me stand around for measurements every year then asks if I've 'grown around the top' before Christmas. Kind of embarrassing, answering that in letter - or at all."

Hermione snorted. "Well, I haven't grown 'round the top' enough to stop me from wearing Ron's old sweater. He gave it to me his second year... still fits fine. I don't know whether to feel good or bad about that, actually."

"Wish mum'd tighten my sweater up 'round the top'. I look like a house elf in a potato sack."

Hermione's head pulled through the maroon knit with a mixed expression in Ginny's direction.

Ginny put her hand over her mouth and snuffled her laugh. "Sorry."

"I'll say one thing though, if it's not 10 below freezing it's hard to wear this thing."

"I know. You should be at the Burrow for Christmas sometime. It's a thousand degrees inside the house if you're by the kitchen, and everyone is, so we all just sit there and smile while we're sweating like dogs around the table."

It was Hermione's turn to stifle a chuckle. "Fighting over the window seat, huh?"

"Pfft. Dad sits by the window. Then he glares at us if we look too miserable. The traitor. I've seen him open the window before we all sat down to eat. Mum doesn't wear her sweater because she's been cooking. Dad and her are the only one able to enjoy anything."

Just then Lavender came in with Parvati on her heels. Lavender gave a poignant look at Ginny; Ginny received the look evenly and gave her the most insufferable and sickly sweet smile she could manage. They'd been over this. Lavender didn't own the dorms. Visiting hours were acceptable. It was just one set of stairs, for god's sakes. Ginny kept her gaze while she sat firmly on Hermione's bed. Lavender rolled her eyes. Parvati spoke up, unconcerned with the silent battle raging between the two.

"You're not going to wear that are you?"

"Is there a problem?" Hermione looked up from rolling on her socks.

The output of breath from Parvati's mouth and the expression on Lavender's face clearly said, "_YES!_", but Hermione didn't even pause a millisecond. She set to pulling on her other sock.

"You know... if you're going to spurn half the girls at this school and insist on going out with Viktor Krum, you need to do it right!" Parvati said, hand on her hip.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort. "We're not going ou-"

Parvati put up a hand. "Don't insult me."

Lavender seemed to acknowledge something. There was a glint in her eye. "You know, 'Vati's right." She eyed Hermione then pranced across the room to her nightstand to pick up her wand. "You have to represent yourself well. We can't let you go out like that. People will eventually know-... I don't think I could forgive myself if we didn't help you. Let us choose your outfit, fix your hair? Do you still have some Sleeakeazy's? I think I have a small bottle here somewhere." Lavender set to shuffling in her nightstand drawer, which was a mess of a purely cosmetic nature, containing all assortment of polishes, lotions, and sprays, used cotton swabs, tissues, and a rainbow of eye shadows. A few things tumbled out in her search. When Lavender had the bottle she desired in hand Hermione saw Lavender look at Hermione's mass of hair critically and then look at the tiny bottle in dismay.

"No thank you." Hermione replied promptly. "I'll be wearing this. Unless you can organize an outfit around my sweater?" Hermione added in sarcastic amusement.

Lavender and Parvati paused a moment. There was hesitation. Lavender made eye-contact with Parvati. Ginny and Hermione shared a secret smile. Parvati finally broke the silence. "At least wear some different shoes? It's amazing what shoes can do to a man if you wear them right!"

Hermione visibly paused. "Well..." And to Ginny's amazement, Hermione uttered reluctantly, " I guess it can't hurt."

Ginny raised an eyebrow for a moment, then a knowing smirk crossed her lips. "My shoes are a little tight." Hermione said sternly.

"Didn't say a word." Ginny raised her hands, but her look clearly said impishly, 'So you _do_ care!' Hermione looked so pitiful trailing behind Parvati and Lavender that Ginny chose a spot on the bed that faced away from them. She hummed a song to herself, unsure of the name, but knew it was one of her mother's favorites to listen to on the radio around Christmas time. Probably by Celestina Warbeck.

Bored with the wait, Ginny took notice of a dark leather box sitting on several neatly stacked books on Hermione's side-table. Ginny, unabashedly still getting over her nosy stage (how could she not be nosy with six brothers and nothing to do?), she picked up the box and opened it. It was empty, aside from a decorative piece of paper. It showed several upon several boxes of colors, ranging across the rainbow and then some; there were also moods listed next to each of them.

There was _red_: anger, frustration, fury. _Orange_: Energy, positive feelings, motivated. _Yellow_: Concentration, focus, intense mental activity. _Yellow-green_: Embarrassment, shy feelings. _Light green_: Envy, longing, jealousy. _Forest green_: Arousal...

Ginny snorted._ Forest green_: Arousal, passion, sexual attraction. _Blue_: Contentedness, calmness, feelings of easiness. It went on and on across more variations of colours.

Ginny turned to see if Hermione was wearing whatever was supposed to change colours. In her hair already, shining yellow-green as bright as day, Hermione was slipping into a pair of Parvati's dressier shoes.

* * *

When Hermione, Ginny, Lavender and Parvati reached the Great Hall, Lavender and Parvati separated from them to join a group of girls hovering around the Gryffindor table; but not before Lavender gave Hermione a wink and an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Go get 'em!" Even Parvati seemed to smile in encouragement, the first look Hermione had gotten from either of them that hadn't been riddled with questionable intentions or clouded thoughts.

Ginny pointed towards the usual collection of Durmstrang boys at the Slytherin table. Viktor was among them.

"Doesn't look like he's seen you walk in. Want to go over?" Ginny asked.

"He's with his friends... I don't want to bother him."

"Oh really! You changed your _shoes,_ didn't you? What'd you do that for if you're not going to go see him?"

"If what Parvati said was true there's already rumors going around... If I go over there, people'll just think - "

"Think what, that you're going out. _Aren't_ you?"

"No! We're just friends." At the look on Ginny's face Hermione reinforced her statement with, "_Really_!"

"So you're telling me that if some girl goes over there and flirts with him right now, you won't care? Look around you, Hermione. _There._" She pointed to a batch of Hufflepuff girls not far from the Slytherin table. "_There._" Another group of girls around the Gryffindor table giggling, not bothering to try and mask their obvious looks. "_There!_" A few girls down the row of the Ravenclaw table appeared to be watching Hermione, waiting to see where she settled. "Do you think any of these people will cheer you on if you were going out with him? No! And they're going to sit there and gossip whether you sit down all night or go up to him."

Hermione looked around her hesitantly, knowing that if she tried to shush Ginny it wouldn't end well. "Look, Ginny - look, if I _were_ interested -"

Ginny gave her a look, all right.

Hermione lowered her voice further. "Okay." She conceded. "If we were to- to go out... I wouldn't want everyone to know. Do you honestly think I could go out with him and it not turn into some crazy circus - people would harass him, that Skeeter cow's article from the first task, that would look like a children's story - Harry would get pulled in somehow. I think we both know we all could do with a little less of that kind of rubbish. There's already so much going on right now. Going over there will just - provoke things."

"Harry's going to get harassed no matter what we do. Not going over there is going to provoke _more_ things. And you _won't_ get what you want to top it off. They'll just think you don't want him - or he doesn't want you - they'll circle him like vultures. Either way, they'll make something up. At least over there, talk to him like a friend or something, but don't let anyone move in."

Hermione wrung her hands. Ginny sighed, "You'll thank me for this later." and commenced to walk boldly over towards the Slytherin table, red hair swaying along her back.

"No! Ginny!" Hermione ran after her and hissed, "Okay! _Okay_!"

Ginny smiled at her, "You're welcome."

"We'll see." Hermione replied, but couldn't help but smile nervously and jump when one of the Durmstrang bunch leapt up and greeted her boisterously. "Hermy-nin!" Natasha shouted, waving them over from the table.

Viktor, Nikolai, and a few others turned to face the pair of Gryffindors making their way through the crowd. Draco Malfoy's face was among them. Apparently they had walked in on another one of Malfoy's rants. "Here's a good example of what I was talking about." He grinned with a malicious smirk. "Taking your dog out for a walk, then, Weasley?"

There had been a moment of silence, where Nikolai whispered something to Natasha. Before Ginny or Hermione could open their mouths to retaliate, Natasha had crossed the several bodies of distance between her and Malfoy in three long-legged steps. She reached him before Viktor had even stood up; he'd been at the farthest side of the table from Malfoy and hadn't heard Malfoy directly.

Natasha grabbed Malfoy by the ear like a school-madam did to a naughty child, dragged him from the bench by the side of his pinkening face, and screamed nonsensical (at least to anyone who didn't know Bulgarian) directly into his ear. Crabbe and Goyle began to stand up furiously but so did two or three Durmstrang guys. Grabbe and Goyle paused in confusion, then eventually sank back down with worried looks. Hermione looked at the teacher's table instantly, as did a few of the Durmstrang lot, but there were none present. Lucky day.

It had taken place over the course of moments; about the length that Nikolai had tossed his arms onto the table, covered his head in his hands, and laughed uncontrollably. He was wiping a tear from his eye when he went to pull Natasha away. "Nat -" He burst out into another fit of laughter again. Finally he managed to say, in perfect English as he pulled Natasha from Malfoy, "To translate - well, I lost track after bottomfeeder swarmy bastards, but you get the point. In other words," He turned to address the Slytherin table, especially in the direction of Malfoy's goons and Pansy Parkinson, "On behalf of all of us," He gestured around the table that the Durmstrang, most with grins on their faces, encircled, "We think you're all a bunch of egotistical, arrogant morons."

Natasha, who had never heard a word of English from Nikolai's lips before; who had hopelessly and unsuccessfully tried to communicate through Viktor for the past several weeks, her only (she thought) option for a decent translator, gaped in awe for a moment at Nikolai, previous anger still coursing through her. She'd been lost in a sea of language she couldn't make head or toe of. When she hit Nikolai, she rapt him so hard in the head that he stumbled. She jabbed her finger into his chest and began to yell at him in quick Bulgarian. He grabbed her by the arm, turned to the Slytherin table again, and gave them the widest grin he could manage under the circumstances, "Despite new events, our sentiments remain the same."

"Right." Ginny said, hands on her hips, and looking rather pleased. "For that, you're all invited to the Gryffindor table so you don't have to sit next to this miserable lot. Whatever that is in Bulgarian."

Viktor had come up beside them, and as Nikolai seemed to be preoccupied with getting knocked in the head with Natasha's shoe, Viktor translated in his absence. The entire Great Hall watched the Durmstrang group relocate to the Gryffindor table. By the time the murmur picked back up in a more furious frenzy than before, most of the Slytherin had slunk from the room. Mainly the ones who hadn't been near the fray stayed, a bit confused but unperturbed.

Ginny grabbed Hermione around the shoulder enthusiastically, "It's off to a great start, isn't it!?" Ginny fell into conversation with a Durmstrang boy who knew only broken English as they all sat down.

"I am upset that I did not get to punch him." Viktor said as he sat down next to Hermione.

"No!" Hermione gushed out, "No! It's not worth it- whatever he says. He just talks to hear his own voice." Thoughts of Viktor being thrown out of the tournament floated in her head, along with newspaper articles...

"How can you defend him? Ever since ve haff sat at that table all he does is spout nonsense this, nonsense that. He assumes that ve are all pureblood elitists - the whole bunch of them haff no problem calling people..."

From what Hermione could tell, Viktor hadn't heard what Malfoy had said. It seemed no one had informed him either. If Viktor had wanted to punch Malfoy in the face badly enough over his general chatter, she was inwardly glad he hadn't heard his latest insult.

"Mudbloods? I know it."

Viktor went quiet.

Natasha sat directly across from Viktor at her edge of the bench arms crossed, face pointed away from them all. This was the calmer Natasha than she had been previously, but Nikolai didn't look ruffled at all. He very patiently began to correct his hair and his clothes, completely unharmed and in a rather good mood. Even with Natasha giving him the cold shoulder he offered her a glass of water. She refused to take it, spoke very tightly to him, and Nikolai, choking down a smile again said very mock-seriously, "Natasha would like me to admit that I am an idiot."

Natasha spoke again; a short sweet statement.

"Ahh, the updated version is: _lying_ idiot with no conscious."

"Actually, the entire translation is 'heartless bastard, lying idiot vith no conscious'." Viktor said with a grin.

"Thank you, Viktor." Nikolai said with a 'grateful' nod to his friend. "That's so very helpful of you."

Hermione tried not to laugh when Viktor turned to her and explained, "A little meaning is lost vhen translating so ve make due."

There was an hour to go before midnight. No one really knew what to expect. The entire Great Hall was at a dull roar when the teachers seated themselves at the table. Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout sat chatting, both looking quite tired. Professor Flitwick looked like he wanted to be in bed right then. The teachers didn't seem to move to do anything significant, so the Great Hall turned the volume back up. Without much ceremony, Dumbledore had stood up and waved his hand with a flourish. Food appeared on the plates, except instead of the usual fare, there were a lot of... bread-like things. An assortment of bread loaves and butter, bread-pudding, English muffins, bagels, spongy looking cakes... It wasn't the standard feast, but nevertheless, no one turned down the food.

More students piled into the Great Hall as the night wore on. Some came in pajamas, even. Ron and Harry hadn't arrived yet. Hermione forgot to tell them about the feast, but they'd figure it out sooner or later. They must of heard about it in the common room. Hermione didn't have long to wonder.

Several minutes passed. Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan came in and plopped down at the table, thus rendering even less space than there had been before.

"Scoot down!" Fred called, "Make room!" They ushered out, not yet noticing the new addition of the entire Durmstrang lot, who, for the most part, couldn't understand a word shouted at them. George noticed their presence with an awe-struck look, but that didn't remain long on his face. The universal signal brandished by Lee Jordan, as he pushed out his hands repeatedly, got their attention. They bundled up together. Hermione was surprised, as Ginny was becoming squished between Hermione and that Durmstrang boy, that Ginny wasn't yelling at the stragglers to go find another table. It didn't take long to figure out why. Before Ginny could be pushed up onto Hermione's lap, Hermione's body gave way and was pushed up next to Viktor's. Viktor had planted his feet; he must have, because he did not budge. He sat like a rock on the end of the bench. Hermione felt like they were already hanging halfway off the edge already. Hermione's entire right half was flush against Viktor's. The side of her shoe was aligned against his, her leg was raised until she could force it down onto the seat where it then met Viktor's along the entire length, and aside from the tingling warmth she received from it, the lack of room rendered it nearly painful. Their shoulders were the only things not touching, but that was really a matter of height. Hermione's shoulder knocked against Viktor's upper arm. Her bushy hair had climbed up Viktor's shoulder and nested in the crook of his neck. There was nowhere else for it to go except down her back, but she couldn't lift either arm to brush it away.

Eventually she was so scrunched up against Viktor she could feel the reverberation go through his body whenever he spoke.

Hermione's hair clip turned that happy lush green instantly. Although Hermione couldn't see, Ginny did. Hermione was pushing back towards Ginny almost desperately. If they had to scoot down an inch more either Viktor would be on the ground or Hermione's barrette would turn so green it would burst.

The entire interaction between Viktor and Nikolai seemed to irritate Natasha further. Hermione noted seemingly with every new sentence, in English, Natasha seemed to grind her teeth ever further down.

"How do you say 'Thank you' in Bulgarian?" Hermione asked, directing her question to Viktor and attempting to distract herself from the extreme discomfort and pleasure she was feeling. She didn't quite understand it herself. Hermione, despite being close to Viktor, and having barely heard her own question above the sound, felt a movement of Viktor's body. "Vell, you vould say 'blagodarya'."

Hermione couldn't tell if her brain had smudged up the rough word or the sound was once again the culprit, but she couldn't make it out. "Could you say that more slowly?"

Each syllable echoed through her in vibrations from the side of his chest. Hermione had a mind to ask Ginny to scoot over, but Ginny was smushed into Hermione's side just as much, and SHE didn't look too upset at being squished up next to the Durmstrang guy she was talking to. They seemed to have their own little version of "translate this..." going on. Hermione didn't think Ginny's intentions were as noble as Hermione's.

"If that is too hard to say, then you can say 'mersi'."

"'Mersi', like 'merci' in French?"

"I am thinking so."

Hermione leaned across the table. "Natasha." Natasha turned her head, the irritated look vanishing instantly. She looked a bit confused herself but her face lit when Hermione said as clearly as she could, "Merci!"

Natasha seemed to ask a question, not taking her eyes from Hermione.

Viktor translated, "She vants to know vhy?"

"For helping me out." Hermione gestured towards the Slytherin table. Natasha craned her head over her shoulder, then Nikolai translated. Natasha seemed to ignore both Viktor and Nikolai. Now that she seemed to understand, a mischievous smile marked her face. She waggled her finger playfully, appearing to amuse herself with her reply.

"I vas just vaiting for an excuse to hit that boy." Then with her expression changing as quick as a sharp wind, she glared at Nikolai. "I could haff hit him in the first veek if Nikolai vould haff translated for me." Then Viktor, who seemed the official translator for the moment, spoke in Bulgarian to her. She rolled her eyes and replied back with a wave of her hand.

Viktor said quietly, so only Hermione was meant to hear, "I did not translate vhat Slytherin vould say becos' Natasha vould haff killed haff of that table before ve could hear the Champion's names." Hermione grinned, though Viktor couldn't see. They were too close to turn towards each other to talk.

Hermione reached her limit. This was ridiculous. She forced out, "Ginny, could you- move your leg- a little bit, please?"

"I have no where to go, 'Mione..." This was said almost breathlessly with Ginny's head turned towards the Durmstrang boy. His arm was reached out steadying Ginny by the shoulder. Ginny, usually not one to deal with idiotic situations as these, especially when caused by her brothers, remained uncommonly civil. Hermione felt like a twisted pretzel when she craned her neck forward. She almost thought she could see a grin on her face. If Ginny wasn't careful, a bit of love-struck drool was going to drip out of her face and onto her object of affection. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Just- Sorry Viktor -" Hermione had nudged Viktor in attempting to adjust her position. "Can't you just- put your leg up on mine or I can put mine on yours - I don't care." She whispered.

"Just cross your legs." Ginny hissed back. Instead of being offended or retorting back Hermione only blinked slowly before feeling incredibly silly. She crossed her legs, not amazed that it worked, but that she hadn't done it already.

"Right."

Dumbledore rose again. It was painful to look at the high table, so Hermione opted to listen instead.

"In true New Years fashion, in celebration of our honored guests this year at Hogwarts... each of you have before you a goblet. Please grab one and join me in a toast!"

There was a noisy clatter while the whole of the room located a cup to raise. Viktor leaned by Hermione and translated for the group, which made it a bit harder for Hermione to raise her cup.

Dumbledore gave them all a moment. When it was silent in the Great Hall, he said clearly to his goblet, "Turnip Wine!"

Au audible bubbling noise and smoke issued from the headmaster's goblet. He waited patiently with a smile.

Uncertainly, a murmur spread across the hall as students ordered their drinks. Apparently, a range from harmless orange-poppy juice to Flameburst Firewhiskey was available, although some rather rare choices wouldn't appear when called upon. Viktor said a strange phrase to his glass; it sounded Bulgarian - or Russian - or anything that didn't sound comprehensible, before his cup filled with a golden-amber liquid.

Hermione felt that asking her cup for butterbeer wasn't a very inspired idea. Ginny had asked and received Chocolate liqueur, so if Hermione wasn't mistaken, there was no age requirement tonight. Perhaps there was a cup limit. Maybe they would start getting water after the first cup. Either way, Hermione tried to relocate in her memory the name of that wine she'd had in France. "Beaujolais Nouveau." She said. There was a pause where Hermione's hopes dropped, but then the glass filled to the middle.

"Vhat is that?" Viktor asked. The room was starting to reach a roar, as many excited, mostly underage students began to test the limits. Many people were trying to think of the most absurd drinks they'd ever heard of. George and Fred were still going down their list trying to find one available. Apparently there _were_ limitations.

"It's a red wine I had when I was in Dijon. In France. What's yours?"

Viktor repeated that nonsense word he'd said to his goblet moments before. Hermione still couldn't make it out. Her body could, however. "It is like beer." He explained, "but kind of... bubbly?"

Dumbledore, still standing patiently with his goblet, cleared his throat. In waves the students went back to quiet. The room was still hissing with whispered exclamations.

"To an excellent year and an excellent collection of people... We raise a toast in honor to our esteemed guests." Dumbledore smiled ever wider, if it were only possible. "And if you will allow an old man a few more words, I'd like to share a little rhyme from my Great Grand Pappy Horace that I think applies to tonight." Dumbledore looked rather pleased. McGonagall suddenly blanched. "Hubblebubble, Tisktosh, Spoiget... Be merry tonight, wake up in a toilet!"

The twins shouted, and many others rang out in chorus, "WAKE UP IN A TOILET!"

From what Hermione could tell McGonagall had downed her drink rather quickly.

Hermione tipped her goblet, savoring the smooth flavor that entered with a crisp fruity finish. The aftertaste tingled on her tongue.

Over different periods of time more food appeared on empty plates. Things like cuts of ham and turkey, mashed potatoes and casseroles. Some chips, cookies, and other New Year's desserts joined in at the table, including foreign desserts for the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons lot.

Safe to say, most students took it upon themselves as a personal challenge to get as drunk as physically possible before midnight. In one full hour, even with bread in their bellies, Hermione's Christmas escapade would have looked sober compared to those around her now. It was a few minutes 'til the new year, and Hermione, on her second goblet of wine and pacing herself rather marvelously, shared a smile with Viktor. He was on his third or fourth goblet, but he could have been drinking soda pop for all she could tell. He was a little red in the face, but otherwise very content. That moment of her ogling him at the Three Broomsticks came to mind. His slightly red face made him look warm and inviting.

Only five minutes to go, a large golden ball appeared high up on the Great Hall ceiling. It looked like a golden moon, but it descended slowly down.

With one minute to go, Dumbledore rose from his seat, eyes twinkling. Those who could stand did. Hermione felt a wave of relief pass over her to not be cramped between a rock and a squirming Ginny. At twenty seconds, the entire room began a countdown. It wasn't until ten seconds in that Hermione's stomach lurched at the realization that perhaps Viktor was going to expect a kiss. People kissed when the new year rolled around, didn't they?

Hermione stood frozen, counting down with everyone around her. "Five... Four... Three-" She lost her ability to say anything. Her stomach leaped back and forth. The cheering around her after reaching the end of the countdown was so loud that Hermione felt like she was in a dream. The room roared. Hermione didn't turn.

When the golden ball opened, confetti, flower petals, streamers, paper party hats, and assortments of candy dropped down. Nikolai took Natasha by the shoulders and began kissing her in a deep way that had Natasha wrapping her arms around his neck in compliance and obvious forgiveness. For now. Who could tell?

Hermione, unable to turn to Viktor, saw Ginny give a kiss to the Durmstrang boy on his cheek. He grinned and she, obviously drunk and giddy, giggled and gave him a second kiss. As if the world would have ended if he hadn't been properly balanced with _two_ kisses on either cheek. Hermione coloured for Ginny but did note that Ginny looked down the table towards her brothers. Beyond the line of flame, Hermione followed the gaze to a tuft of black messy hair that bobbed in and out of the fire. Then a wave of dirty blonde hair, long and straight, caught her eye. Lavender, next to Parvati, gestured to Hermione frantically. She was pointing at Viktor, she kissed the air, and for once, she was not being a flirt. Hermione pointedly ignored her mimed command, her face hot from both the alcohol and her furious embarrassment. In a moment of clarity, red and hot, Hermione sat back at the table with the cheering around her fading, hand cupping her face by her eyes.

That moment had made the decision for Hermione, whose stomach was beginning to settle, although now there was a pull at her chest. When Lavender had urged her; commanded her, Hermione knew it was the right thing to do. Or not do. Hermione knew it was right.

She didn't want to kiss Viktor - well, she DID - just not in front of everybody. She wanted to do it on her own terms. She didn't want people to expect it of her. She didn't want anyone to see.

She could have managed a kiss on the cheek; even Ginny could kiss that Durmstrang boy - that made Hermione feel silly. And stupid. And just plain ridiculous. What was the big deal?

If Hermione became the kind of love struck girl that tried to kiss Viktor every possible moment, in front of others or not, it would only reinforce the notion that: Give Granger a few drinks and she'll kiss. She COULD hold her liquor. She COULD control her actions. And she would. Because she hadn't before. That remained a sore spot with her.

And just when did she start taking advice from Lavender Brown?

Hermione didn't like public displays of affection. Plain and simple. That's how she was. She didn't like being presented at the Yule ball, she didn't like a kiss at a New Year's eve party. She didn't, quite frankly, want to offer herself so fully in front of anyone who wanted to see, rumor, and discuss where and who her lips landed on.

Yes, Hermione wanted to kiss Viktor Krum. But she was going to be sober, in control, and alone when they finally did. If he wanted to, that was.

That was the assumption.

When it was time to leave, the noise was so loud that Hermione could barely hear a single word unless it was shouted.

Viktor had seemed out of sorts. To most, it was the typical glower and stare. He drew up into himself and didn't seem very talkative. But Hermione noticed. She painfully noticed. Maybe the drink he'd chosen hadn't set right with him. Hah. That was an excuse... Viktor had implied so heavily that he was an excellent drinker. Maybe he _had_ expected a kiss...

Hermione tried to talk to him, but the noise fought her. Ginny needed her more, however. Hermione managed to get Ginny on her arm, whose face was so red her hair looked blonde in comparison. Hermione waved to Natasha and Nikolai then waved to Viktor. The crowd was splitting them apart. Viktor waved a bit grumpily, then turned off towards the doors when they left the Great Hall. Up the stairs, that Ginny and Hermione took slowly for Ginny's sake, Hermione felt a painful tug on her hair. It was just Ginny.

"It was green!" She said matter-of-factly. "See? You're blushing! You know what it means, don't you?"

Hermione feigned ignorance. "What're you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about!"

Hermione was beginning to feel her Christmas present from Viktor was going to cause her more problems than it fixed. Hair be damned, she could deal with a few stray curls in her face.

At least Ginny had enough sense about her to lower her voice conspiratorially, "I'm not stupid... I looked at the colour chart-thing you know, there's no use hiding it." Ginny sniggered slyly, "Did you know I told that boy I was sixteen? He believed it! Ahh... I can see the appeal... I had no idea what he was saying, but man, the way he said it! Good thing I'm not wearing that thing - it would have been green the whole night." Ginny fanned her face and a loud string of genuine belly laughter rang out and echoed up the stairs. Ginny knew she wasn't in love, but a harmless flirt _wasn't_ below her.

"Watch your step." Hermione said quickly, her own foot conveniently tugging at the previous one to jar Ginny into a new direction. Ginny would have toppled, but Hermione hung tightly to the back of her shirt. Hermione struggled to think of something to fill the conversation before Ginny started up again. The last thing she wanted anyone to overhear was Ginny saying the word 'arousal'.

Had Viktor seen and memorized the chart? How many people knew about those things? Hermione swore she would tear the chart up when she got back to her room. Then maybe she'd worry half the night before she fell asleep. And maybe she'd think a bit more about the kiss she'd wanted to give Viktor, if they'd been alone.

But one thing was for certain; there was going to be no tattle tailing hair clip on her to tell anyone which colour she was.


End file.
